


Dark OT3

by khilari



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: 30 Day Dark OTP Challenge, Dark, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 36,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khilari/pseuds/khilari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-day fic challenge based on a set of prompts ranging from dark to slightly kinky.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>I'll try to put specific warnings in the notes to the fics they belong with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

There are stones on the red-black earth, perfect round pebbles like coins silver-white in the moonlight. Gil is following them, earth against his bare soles, seeming sandy one minute, rutted and flinty the next. He is tiny and the night is huge and all he has is that trail of silver-white to lead him home. The pebbles start to uncurl, beginning with those closest to him, and scuttle away on sharp legs. Little white segmented bodies with wedge shaped heads, still glowing in the moonlight. They horrify him, leave him breathless, but he still runs towards them, towards the ones that are still curled like pebbles, trying to follow the path before it is gone.

There is darkness. He is so hungry when he finds the house, the kind of hunger that seems to be eating him for lack of food. His father must be hungrier — he hasn’t eaten their bread for days, only broken a piece for Gil and slipped the rest back in his pocket. Is that why he left them out here, in the dark, unable to find their way home?

Them. Gil’s mouth is full of the sweet taste of fudge, the corner of a windowsill broken off from the house, and suddenly something is terribly wrong. Where is his sister? Wasn’t it both of them, shouldn’t she be here? Where… she was made to do housework wasn’t she? Or was she training to become another witch?

He is in a cage. There are bones in the cage, the bones of other little boys, and he pokes a fingerbone through the cage bars to convince the witch he is not fat enough to eat. The witch is pale with red eyes and spiked limbs, jutting her sharp face towards him. She wears red and green feathers around her waist, somehow bright even in the dark cottage. Even though his sister is in the house, doing the housework, he never sees her and she never comes when he calls.

The door to the cottage opens, daylight illuminating it. The bones on the floor, human and animal intermingled, broken and gnawed clean, are clearly visible now, and Gil knows that his own will be among them soon. The other witches are coming in, not pale and thin and spiked but looking like anyone, anyone at all, except for the blank hunger in their eyes. They do not care whether Gil is fat enough, they do not care for anything but food, they are hungrier than he was when he found the house.

He scrambles backwards in the cage, the sharp ends of bones digging into him, scratching him, he sees the witches’ heads lift at the scent of blood. He whimpers.

The witch, the first witch, the white one, opens the door to the cage and pulls him out with one hand. In the other she holds a knife, blade wavy, handle decorated with the same green and red feathers she wears. Gil screams for a sister whose name he does not even know.

*

Gil wakes, gasping, in their bed in Castle Heterodyne. He can feel Tarvek’s warmth on one side of him and then the mattress moving as Tarvek stirs, leans up on one elbow to look down at Gil.

‘I didn’t know you had nightmares,’ Tarvek says. It’s more often him, Agatha and Gil waking to find him curled tight and trembling.

‘I don’t, usually,’ says Gil. Usually he can tell when he’s going to and just doesn’t sleep. He flops back onto the pillow, feeling the familiar wave of restlessness and exhaustion.

‘What was it about?’ Tarvek asks.

‘Hansel and Gretel,’ says Gil. Tarvek’s expression is incredulous; his own dreams are terrible things, tangled memories of the worst of his childhood, and now he’s expected to sympathise with something as childish as this? He’s too kind to say it but Gil quirks a smile, saves him from having to respond. ‘That story scared me when I was a kid. It was just a silly dream.’

Gil can find the pieces of his own past in it, now, as he couldn’t then. He looks at Tarvek with affection. Tarvek has been scared of many things, but never of cannibalism, and to him revenants were never an inexplicable horror. Sometimes it’s hard not to blame him, as if his willingness to risk inflicting those horrors on a new genaration somehow makes him responsible for the times Gil faced them as a child. But Tarvek had been a child himself then, and he’s past any willingness to use things like wasps. Gil nestles against him, not ready to risk sleep but grateful for Tarvek’s warmth, for the comfort of not being alone after a nightmare.

On Tarvek’s other side, Agatha stirs. ‘Tarvek?’ she says, sleepy and concerned.

‘Gil had a nightmare,’ Tarvek says, quietly.

‘Just a silly one,’ Gil adds, although his heart hasn’t slowed down yet.

Agatha gets out of bed anyway, pads around the edge of it and climbs back in on his other side, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Gil usually doesn’t like sleeping in the middle — he’s still restless, prefers to be able to get up in the night without disturbing them — but this is nice. He doesn’t want to be alone right now, anyway.

Just a silly dream… he knows where his sister is now, and who she is. Zeetha will be visiting in a few weeks. Maybe he should tell her he has dreams about missing her. Maybe he shouldn’t, to her men are the weaker sex and she’d blame herself for not protecting him. She’d been a child herself, as they all had.

Gil’s thoughts are soft and hazy, cocooned between his lovers, and he’s unaware when his resolution not to sleep fails.


	2. Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains major character death (Agatha is a ghost) and also explicit ghost!sex.

It’s been weeks since Gil’s been on the campus and now here he is, leaning against your car in his leather jacket. (Gil doesn’t have a car, Gil has a motorcycle that he rides too fast and too carelessly because he thinks his perfect reflexes are going to save him if a car doesn’t see him in time.) He looks awful, grey-white with huge black circles around his eyes, like paper half burned to ashes and soot.

He meets your eyes. ‘Do you want to see Agatha again?’

You don’t punch him. You want to, _God_ , you want to, the sudden pain in your chest, the giddy leap of stupid, stupid hope. But it’s _Gil_ and he looks like he’d just go over right now if you did and you couldn’t bear it. ‘She’s dead,’ you say, voice level. Hands clenched and eyes prickling with tears.

He’s breathing fast, you can see his chest rising and falling, a manic light in his eyes far, far too bright in their bruised sockets. ‘It’s Halloween.’

You throw him the most disgusted look you can muster. ‘I am not playing _games_. Not with Agatha, it’s not…’

‘I mean it,’ he says. ‘There’s this stuff I found online, these rituals, they’ve worked for me so far. It says on Halloween, at midnight, and then if you get it right they stay until dawn. The ghost.’ Gil’s never, never given up on anything he wants. ‘I’m doing it anyway,’ he says. ‘Do you want to be there?’

You don’t believe in it for a moment. But what if it _works?_ What if she comes back and Gil’s the only one who gets to see her again?

‘Fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll come.’

* 

He makes you drive. No, not makes you, but you’d rather have him in the car than try to follow him on his motorbike, and frankly he doesn’t look like he _should_ be driving anything. The directions he gives you aren’t to his house.

‘It has to be abandoned. I’ve picked a place, but there’s stuff to get set up.’ He stops, looks thoughtful. ‘We should grab McDonalds on the way.’

‘McDonalds,’ you say, flatly. His father’s one of the richest men in Europe and he eats McDonalds. You’re pretty sure he does it to show off.

He shrugs. ‘I like the fries.' 

You don’t argue further because you’re not sure when he last ate, so you’re carrying warm paper bags when you arrive at the house. It’s a pretty nice house, actually. Unkempt, with the garden overgrown and the lower windows boarded up, but not completely neglected. Gil picks the lock easily enough, but it looks like he might have been the first. There’s dust inside, darker patches of paint on the walls marking the ghost imprints of furniture and pictures. Given Gil’s flair for the dramatic you were expecting something different.

‘It’s not very spooky,’ you say.

He blinks. ‘I wouldn’t want to summon Agatha somewhere creepy,’ he protests.

You’re not sure about that one. You’ve seen the stuff in her attic, although you suppose she didn’t choose her family any more than you did. She wouldn’t want to be summoned somewhere sordid, though, a creepy old abandoned place with needles and condoms on the floor. You wouldn’t want to be there either. ‘Nice choice,’ you admit.

Gil’s fiddling with his smartphone and doesn’t answer. You shrug and unwrap a cheeseburger. His supplies are lined up against a wall: heavy duty candles, the kind that could see you through a power cut; an oval mirror, not a hand mirror, it’s meant to go on a bathroom wall you can see the nail holes at the top and bottom; a set of old jam jars containing God knows what; a pack of crayola coloured chalks. Gil’s gaze keeps flicking from his phone to them as if he’s counting. You shove the cheeseburger at him and take the phone. ‘Let me see that.’

‘Give my phone back, Sturmvoraus,’ he snaps, but you dodge when he reaches for it.

‘I’m going to be doing the ritual too, I want to see it,’ you say. ‘Eat.’

He snorts and grumbles but eats his cheeseburger.

‘“Ritual to summon and bind”,’ you say. ‘Really?’

‘There wasn’t a ritual for asking politely,’ he mutters into his burger. ‘It’s Agatha. She’ll understand.’

‘She’ll yell at you for being presumptuous,’ you say, because she will. Would. It’s not as if she’ll be here to find out about this ill-advised scheme.

Gil swallows rather harder than his mouthful would require and stops eating. ‘I don’t care, as long as she comes.’ He drops the half eaten burger back into a bag, grabs the candles and starts arranging them in a circle as large as the room can hold. His movements are fast, jerky, he looks feverish. You worry about him despite yourself and you could almost be jealous, when you’ve carried on as normal not knowing what else to do, eaten and slept and gone to classes. He makes you feel shallow, as if your feelings are less real because you don’t express them so dramatically.

If it doesn’t work — _when_ it doesn’t work — you don’t know what he’ll do.

*

It gets cold when night falls, and it turns out Gil’s only brought the supplies for the ritual, although at least he has a torch. You go out to fetch a blanket from the car and then, on second thoughts, go to buy coffee, doughnuts and chemical handwarmers.

Gil is halfway through drawing strange circles just inside the ring of candles, both looping and spiked. He’s used red, white and green chalk and it looks like a spirograph pattern only somehow less friendly. There are a lot of spikes pointing in, like a ring of thorns. Are you meant to do the summoning from inside that circle? What if you get something that isn’t Agatha? You squelch that thought, you’re not going to get anything at all (it’s Anevka’s fault for making you watch horror movies with her, something she’d undoubtedly be doing tonight if you were at home).

‘Don’t smudge the circle,’ says Gil.

You roll your eyes, already stepping carefully over it, and drop the doughnuts in the middle before spreading out the blanket. At least it’s some insulation on the cold floorboards.

Gil raises an eyebrow at the doughnuts. ‘And after you were a snob about McDonalds.’

‘Shut up. They’re good doughnuts.’

They are. When Gil finally finishes his circles he comes and sits next to you on the blanket and eats a couple, licking chalk off his fingers along with the sugar and checking his phone with the other hand. You kind of wish you’d brought a book.

*

At ten minutes to midnight Gil suddenly goes into a frenzy of activity, grabbing the mirror and putting it in the middle of the circle and then starting to pile dirt around it.

‘What’s that?’ you ask.

‘Grave dirt,’ he answers absently, carefully building it into a little wall around the edge of the mirror.

You maybe squawk. ‘You actually took that from Agatha’s _actual grave_.’

‘It’s not as if I dug up her skull or anything.’ He grabs a jar and pours water from it onto the mirror, carefully drizzling it like oil into a pan, looking to get an even layer. ‘Seawater,’ he says. ‘Light the candles.’

You’re grateful for the extra light until Gil switches the torch off and there’s only the flickering yellow of candle flame and the tiny steady glow of his phone. He tosses the phone to you and the shadows make it grow huge in the air, as if putting out wings, shrinking as it swoops towards you. You fumble but catch it and check the time, a few minutes to go. 

Gil’s kneeling over the mirror, one hand cupped stiffly, the other at his wrist with a glint of steel in it. You shriek before you can stop yourself; the air carries the tang of blood. He had the blade palmed when he threw you the phone, he must have done, he distracted you on purpose.

‘It’s for the ritual,’ he says. And oh. Oh. That’s… better, at least Gil’s not killing himself to be with Agatha in the middle of a horror movie circle _while you watch._ ‘On the stroke of midnight. Tell me.’

You bring the phone up quickly because after all this you’re at least going to do it properly and even so nearly miss it. You yell ‘ _now_ ’ and he turns over his hand, splattering blood across the mirror. The candles flare, flames suddenly five times the height they should be, it’s still that weird shadowed light but it’s intense. You stay kneeling where you are, frozen in bewildered terror. Gil looks up at you, face strange in the intense golden light. No, he’s glowing from the inside, and his eyes are green.

‘Agatha?’ It comes out more than half a sob.

She stands up. It’s not Gil, Gil doesn’t move like that. It’s her smile on Gil’s face. ‘Tarvek! I felt Gil call, but I didn’t know you were here.’ She kneels down in front of you, hands clasped on her knees, the pose looking strange on Gil.

You blink, hard, everything’s gone hazy and your face is wet. ‘I missed you so much,’ you croak.

She takes your face in Gil’s hands and kisses you. It’s the way Agatha kisses, excited and impulsive as if she’s always just decided that moment that she wants to and daringly gone for it. You wonder if it’s all right, if Gil minds, even as you kiss back.

‘Are you possessing Gil?’ you ask, when you part. Her hands, Gil’s hands, are still against your face. They’re so broad, compared to hers, but it’s her touch.

She looks down. ‘I can’t really help it,’ she says. ‘Living things are like a bridge when otherwise I’d be shouting across a river, but it’s a bridge that pulls at me… There aren’t any good words for a lot of it on this side.’ Her grip tightens, holding your head still and she meets your eyes with eyes glowing green like cats’ eyes. ‘Do you mind?’

You think at first she’s asking whether you mind her possessing Gil. Surely that’s not up to you? Then you realise what she means. ‘It’s okay, if you want to,’ you say. You wonder if it will be like being switched off or whether you’ll still be there while she moves you.

She flows into you like a hot drink, warming you up from the inside, and it’s not like you imagined. It’s not horrifying at all, she’s just _there_ like having her beside you. The heat of her skin, the scent of her, the brush of her hair. Like summer days when she sat down beside you and you didn’t even need to look to know it was her.

‘Gil,’ she says, with your mouth. It feels entirely natural and you know you could stop her if you wanted to, you know Gil could have stopped her from kissing you. But you don’t want to stop her, you’d give her so much more than this if you could. ‘You do know you’re meant to do this ritual from _outside_ the circle?’

‘But I didn’t want to be separated from you,’ he says, and throws himself at her, at you, wrapping his arms around you so tight you feel your spine creak. Agatha hugs him back and you’re not sure whether you’re letting her or hugging him as well. She’s the one that kisses him though, deep and hard, with that passion you’d always seen in them from the outside and feared you couldn’t measure up to. You think the rest of the night might be worth it to be part of that from the inside, even if only at one remove, as a necessary body. Then she slides out of you, making you shiver as the cold night slips back in, and she’s kissing you with Gil’s lips just as deeply.

‘I always wanted,’ she says, breaking off and then kissing you more lightly before continuing. ‘Always wanted both of you. And we never…’ She’s looking at the blanket, blushing, hungry and demure. Or maybe the blush is Gil’s, there’s certainly an answering one on your own cheeks.

‘Yes,’ you say. ‘Whatever you want. Yes.’

She takes your hand and her warmth slides back into you and Gil says. ‘Yes. _Agatha._ ’ There’s so much painful yearning in her name.

She kisses him again and starts to kiss her way down his neck, hands sliding underneath his jacket, and then flicks back into him like a will o’ the wisp, leaving you with clumsy hands under Gil’s jacket while she unbuttons your collar, slides your shirt down to nibble your shoulder. She’s doing most of the work, the two of you willing but uncertain, fumbling as soon as it’s you feeling Gil’s body beneath your hands, or him feeling yours. It’s less strange for her, perhaps, if anything about this can be normal for any of you. She’s made out with both of you before, but it’s not her body your hands are on. Nor, when she’s sometimes you, can you ignore Gil and pretend it’s only her. You don’t want to ignore Gil (you don’t want him to ignore you).

The next time she leaves you you carry on unbuttoning Gil’s shirt determinedly, fingers trembling. You can feel his muscles under your fingers, the planes of his belly. It feels almost illicit to enjoy it, the way it doesn’t to enjoy Agatha’s smile on his face, her passion in the touch of his lips. Gil seizes the initiative and pulls your trousers off as soon as he’s in control and if Agatha hadn’t had your body you’d have jumped a mile.

‘Gil!’ says Agatha, in your voice, smothering laughter. ‘That’s a bit abrupt.’

‘Didn’t you like it?’

‘You startled Tarvek.’ She crosses over to look at you through his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘You don’t have to tell him things like that,’ you say, pulling your trousers off the rest of the way and folding them fussily as an excuse not to look at either of them.

She kisses your cheek. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’m fine,’ you add. You feel exposed, excited and nervous, stomach full of butterflies. You reach out daringly, caress Gil’s hip and feel her jump slightly. You are Gil aren’t the only ones who are nervous and the thought steadies you, a little. You’re so afraid of screwing up your only chance with her. ‘It’s okay,’ you say. You kneel up so that you can hold Gil’s body as you would hers, pull her head against your shoulder, run your hand through short, fluffy hair.

She curls against you, murmurs, ‘mmmm,’ into your neck, tilts her head up to kiss you, slow and melting, knotting heat in your belly. She’s such a pale gold in the candlelight, and then when her eyes open it’s enough to dazzle you. _Nature’s first green is gold,_ you think irrelevantly. Then you’re seeing Gil, just Gil, skin covered in dancing golden light but not glowing with it, eyes a shadowed brown, and you almost move to kiss him before Agatha does.

Agatha stretches Gil naked below you, then switches over and pulls you down with laughing eyes. ‘You’re both so beautiful,’ she says, and you want to say she is too, but it would mean saying Gil is.

‘I love you,’ you say.

‘I love you too,’ she answers, and then she’s back inside you, the draft that was crawling up your back gone in her warmth, to say the same thing to Gil, who groans and stammers something unintelligible.

‘Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t hear that, given your track record,’ she says.

‘I asked you out!’ he protests.

‘You said that you thought we’d be very compatible and should consider a trial period of dating,’ she says. You don’t have control of your mouth to laugh, but you shiver inside with it. You hadn’t heard that story.

She’s stroking the inside of Gil’s thighs with the edges of your nails running teasingly along sensitive skin. Gil groans as much from that as from her words, throwing his head back sharply. ‘Fine. I love you! I love you _so much!_ There!’

She flicks back into Gil so that both of you can laugh at him. ‘I hope you didn’t come back in hopes that it would inspire romance in Gil,’ you say, continuing the stroking. Gil’s cock is hard, leaking, and Agatha gasps when the back of your hand brushes it, but you can’t quite bring yourself to grasp it.

‘I’m finding this… quite romantic…’ she says. She doesn’t look romantic, she looks predatory. Not like a succubus or some deady spirit. Like a happy tigress, ready to pounce most enjoyably. It almost prepares you for Gil’s hand on your cock, for the pressure and promise of release. You tell yourself Agatha can’t do this from both sides and tentatively put your hand on Gil’s as she murmurs encouragement.

She comes first, Gil’s shoulderblades pressed against the floor, his back arched and his neck bared, her expression one of blissful abandon. She flicks back into you at the last possible moment before you come.

‘Did you just cheat to get two orgasms in a row?’ Gil asks when he has his breath back.

Agatha’s contented laughter bubbles through your chest. ‘It wasn’t cheating.’ 

* 

You lie together, Agatha’s golden light changing the shadows as she moves from one of you to the other, often enough to allow a three way conversation. She tells you she’s met ancestors in the afterlife. ‘They’re kind of awful, but very glad to see me. I shouldn’t like them as much as I do.’

‘Should they be in the same place as you, if they’re awful?’ you ask.

‘It’s not really like that.’ She bites her lip in thought. ‘It’s more complicated and there’s less torture. They’re bound a bit differently to me, that’s all.’

You try to tell her about university and realise how little you’ve really been taking in since she died. One day might as well be the same as the next.

You make love again, more slowly, more surely, now all three of you know what to expect. A long, honeyed time of slow golden light, as you try to memorise them. The impetuousness that characterises both of them, the competitive edge that means _Gil_ while Agatha is shy one minute and effortlessly dominant the next. You wonder what they will remember of you, what impression you give.

You curl together again and talk of memories. The three of you had been together less than a year, Agatha pulling you both into her orbit and thus back into each other’s. You’d competed over her endlessly and now you wonder why you ever minded, why you ever thought it would matter if she and Gil were together as long as she was also with you.

Dawn comes all too soon. You hear a bird singing outside. _It was the nightingale and not the lark._ But it’s neither, it’s the two note whistle of a song thrush. And there’s no one to convince. The candles flare and die, and Agatha’s light dies with them. You did not anticipate the moment. You did not say goodbye.

Gil starts up, looking wildly around the room, and you follow more slowly, already knowing it’s no use to hope to see her standing there, outside of you, perhaps waving goodbye above the mirror. You curl your knees against your chest, a tight feeling inside as if something is winding its way around your heart and pulling. The first sob startles you because you haven’t cried for her like this yet, not wild and helpless, as if every sob might shatter you. Gil’s arms close around you and he holds on, less like an attempt at comfort than like holding you together. Or like clinging to the last piece of wood in a storm.


	3. Werewolf/Vampire AU

Agatha walked through the crowd, sipping at a wineglass of warm blood and concentrating on making small talk with the other vampires around her. She was trying not to concentrate on the werewolves at her feet. Tarvek was moving with the easy, show-dog trot of a collared werewolf, tail held high, ears pricked, eyes blank. Gil, on her other side, was trying to imitate him, but there was a still a little bit of prowl to his trot and his ears kept moving, flattening. It was important that Agatha not be the one to give them away by paying more attention to him than the other vampires were paying to their werewolves.

When Despoina commented that her dress was lovely, it was nice to see younger vampires leaving behind old-fashioned ideas of elegance, Gil’s ears and tail went down so fast in the corner of her eye Agatha was sure Despoina would comment.

It was a relief when it was near enough dawn for them to be dismissed to their rooms. Agatha’s room was huge: old wood carved with little gargoyle faces; old, heavy velvet drapes over everything that could be draped. Vampire chic as she was coming to think of it, it seemed to be the case with everything around here. She shut the door behind them, made a quick mental sweep for any spells the room might have been bugged with and sat down. ‘We’re clear,’ she said, pulling off her high heels and arching one foot in relief.

Tarvek dropped out of his show-dog pose and started wagging his tail so fast it almost blurred. Agatha laughed, more in relief than anything. She’d been so scared, but apparently he was just _fine_. Gil snorted and shouldered him sideways, Tarvek snapping his teeth in response in a way that was more playful than threatening. Gil pulled away and came over to sit by her chair. He stretched, sprawled, and a moment later he was a muscular young man with a silver collar around his neck, ears slightly pointed and hair growing part of the way down his spine, but nothing you’d really notice if you didn’t know.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked.

Tarvek changed too, leaning back against the door, as unselfconscious about his nudity as Gil. ‘It’s really going to work!’ he said, his smile the equivalent of the wagging tail.

‘At least if Gil holds it together,’ said Agatha, nudging Gil with her foot. ‘What were you thinking with Despoina? I was sure she was going to notice.’

Gil growled. ‘She smelled hostile.’

‘Obviously she was hostile, but she wasn’t going to attack me at a party. She’ll take it as an insult if I have you growl at her.’

Gil pulled at the collar at his neck and made a face. It was a fake, a good one, but a collared werewolf was meant to be slaved to their vampire’s wishes. He shouldn’t be able to growl at other vampires unless _Agatha_ was the one expressing hostility. ‘I don’t like not being able to act,’ he said.

‘We _all_ wish you could act,’ Tarvek said. His collar was real. His collar was the reason Agatha was in a room with two gorgeous naked men who she was pretty sure liked her and wasn’t going to make a move.

Gil growled a little in his throat, and scooted away from the chair so he was close enough to kick Tarvek. Like the snap earlier, it was playful. Agatha slid off the chair to join them on the floor, surprised at the relief she felt at not being above them. She really, really hoped tomorrow night worked. It felt like they’d been planning this forever, although it wasn’t really all that long since it had begun.

*

Agatha looked around at the… the _crypt,_ might as well call it what it was, although inside it was decorated like a gothic mansion. A few days ago she’d been a university student. Now she was a vampire, her family thought she was dead — and for their own safety it had better stay that way. A vampire of an excellent lineage, of the sort that came with a crypt, furnishings, some questionably human servants and a _pet._

The thing that looked like a muscular dog the colour of an irish setter was, she had been told, a werewolf. Currently it was sitting in the middle of the floor, tail wrapped around it, perfectly still like the product of the best obedience schools. She wished it would do something. It immediately stood up and walked over to her. Oh, they’d said that, hadn’t they? Slaved to her wishes. God, this was so awful.

She hadn’t technically inherited it, the werewolf. There had been a coming out party for her. Apparently she was of an ancient and noble vampire lineage, of the kind that usually trained their fledglings for years rather than biting them in an alley and disappearing off the face of the earth. There had been _presents._

‘Can you turn into a human?’ she asked.

He did, transforming neatly and without any of the fuss you saw in horror movies, and then stood up, back straight, arms by his sides. His nakedness made it surreal, but he stood like a well-trained servant. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Tarvek, Mistress.’

She touched his collar, he didn’t react to her at all. ‘Is there any way I can get this off you?’

‘No, Mistress.’ There was no emotion in his voice.

Agatha nearly cried. She didn’t want a _slave_ , she didn’t, after everything it was too much. Did he even want to be free? _Could_ he even want to be free? She knew she was a monster now, but did she have to have proof she was a monster even to other monsters? Did she have to be so helpless to change it?

Suddenly a hand, large and warm, cupped her face, and she looked up into smokey brown eyes gleaming with intelligence. ‘I can sense your wishes,’ he said, ‘and if you really want to help me you’ll have to help all of us.’

* 

The first part of Tarvek’s plan involved clothes. It was a relief to see him dressed, easier to think of him as a normal person. He’d never been bothered by nudity, but seeing him in nothing but a collar left Agatha with a vague feeling she was taking advantage of him. Maybe because she _could_.

‘There are wild werewolves,’ he explained. ‘Ones they haven’t got collars on yet. I met some, when I was a cub, I’d run away —’

‘You can run away?’ Agatha asked.

‘Not for long. The vampire we’re slaved to can always find us by these.’

Closing her eyes, Agatha could feel it at the edge of her mind. She could find Tarvek, no, the collar, wherever it was. ‘So if I just let you go and didn’t look for you no one would be able to find you?’ she asked. ‘Not that I’m suggesting it! Not when it would mean leaving all the others collared.’

‘Sooner or later someone would find me,’ he said. ‘They do sweeps. But if I’m with you I won’t be picked up.’ He sat down to tie his shoes. ‘I’d found a jamming spell, thought I could outsmart them, and I wound up living with a wild pack for a while.’ He closed his eyes. ‘They may even have forgiven me.' 

‘What for?’ Agatha asked.

Tarvek’s face twisted. ‘When the vampires found me, I brought them down on them.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, we’ve got to try.’

*

The second part involved a bus ride to a run-down part of the city, all warehouses and broken glass. Two in three streetlamps didn’t work, the only sounds were the distant yells and singing of the drunk. Tarvek stopped to lean against one of the defunct streetlamps, head angled down, and it took Agatha a moment to realise he was sniffing it.

‘That would be much less weird if you looked like a wolf,’ she said. 

‘If I looked like a wolf we’d be spotted before I found the person I’m looking for,’ he said, walking on.

Agatha had to trot to keep up with him, but when her annoyed wish he’d slow down brought him to a crawl she immediately felt awful. ‘What happens if we’re spotted first?’ she asked. ‘They don’t like vampires, do they?’

‘No.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘If it happens, I’ll create a distraction, and you run, okay?’

‘And leave you to be torn to pieces?’

Tarvek’s head suddenly went up, like a dog on a scent, and he headed towards an alley. ‘I’m not to be blamed for where my Mistress takes me,’ he said.

Something rang metallically behind them and Agatha jumped. Tarvek pulled her against him as he turned and she had to look over her shoulder to see a young man jumping from the lid of a dustbin to the ground. Had he dropped off the roof? He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, no shoes. ‘That might be convincing if I hadn’t just heard you calling the shots,’ he said. ‘Are you _insane?_ My father’s going to rip your tail out!’

‘Gil,’ said Tarvek, letting go of her but stepping between them. ‘I was looking for you.’

Gil growled. It was a dark, warning sound that made the hair stand up on the back of Agatha’s neck.

Tarvek tensed, Agatha could hear the beginning of a growl in his throat, and then he tipped his head back instead, showing his throat, hands coming up in a more human gesture of surrender. ‘I know how to free the collared werewolves,’ he said, talking fast. ‘I know how the vampires managed to collar them, it’s easy, but it needs a wild werewolf to do it and they’d never let one close.’

‘Very easy,’ Agatha muttered, and he flicked an annoyed look at her.

‘I know you hate me,’ he continued, to Gil, ‘but are you really okay with leaving so many of us collared just because of that?’

Gil relaxed, edged closer. ‘My father won’t risk those of us still free on the off chance you can be trusted.’

‘He doesn’t have to,’ said Tarvek. ‘It only takes one.’

Gil looked between them. ‘There’s a bar that way. It’ll be safer if we’re not standing in the middle of the street.’ He grinned, suddenly both boyish and predatory. ‘Tell me everything.’

*

And now it was weeks later, weeks of plotting, of Gil hanging out in her crypt to learn how to act like a collared werewolf. Honestly, a lot of the plotting hadn’t been necessary. The plan was risky but, in essence, very simple.

Agatha could feel the sun going down. She stretched out on the bed, grateful that it wasn’t a coffin, and felt the leaden darkness that was not really sleep descending on her. A moment later two furry bodies jumped up next to her, one settling on either side, and as she sank into her day-trance she was smiling.

*

The next night the mood of the party was subtly different. Yesterday had been the social side and, while tonight held plenty of oppurtunities for polite backstabbing, its focus was on ritual. There were also a few humans present, wearing white dresses or suits, sticking close to their patrons. Agatha disliked them, trainees to become monsters, because they made her want to shout at them to tell her what it was about this life that they thought they wanted. Avoiding them was impossible, though, she was a representative of a lineage everyone wanted their protégés introduced to. She forced herself to smile and they pretended not to notice it was strained.

The true rituals began at midnight, everyone drifting over to the Master of Ceremonies with polite langour. The representatives of each lineage were called forward and Agatha submitted to having the symbol of hers carved on both palms while Gil twitched at her side. They stood in a circle and renewed the veils that made humans avoid their habitations, Agatha’s power being drawn out from her through the slices in her palms without her control.

There were ceremonies of fealty, next, with vampires who wished to serve another lineage kneeling and licking the bloody palms of their new master, under the eyes of vampire society. Agatha was very glad no one would want to swear fealty to her.

Then a small box, like a jewellery box, was brought out, and it was time, or nearly time. Agatha felt sick with anticipation, she could feel Gil and Tarvek’s tension on either side of her.

‘Tonight,’ said the Master of Ceremonies. ‘We renew the Spell of the Wolf Moon, which binds our companions to us. Turn your palms to me and lend me your power.’

Agatha did as he said, thinking that if their plan failed she would ball them into fists, run from the room, anything rather than have her magic support the spell enslaving Tarvek. As she did she shuffled forward, as if looking for a better view, as far as she could without stepping out of the circle of onlookers. The Master of Ceremonies opened the box, a shining silver crystal inside, its surface pitted with craters in an exact replica of the moon.

Gil leapt, clearing the gap between the onlookers and the Master of ceremonies in one bound, snatching the crystal up in his teeth. He flared silver for a moment, leaving Agatha with an afterimage of a wolf mid-leap seared on her retina.

The Master of Ceremonies plunged a clawed hand at Gil, who dodged, faster than anything should be able to move, a perfect circle of silver still shining on his forehead. The other vampires surged forwards, intent on killing Gil, fingernails growing into claws as they closed in, but around and behind them growling was starting to fill the room.

It wasn’t until teeth raked her leg that Agatha’s surge of triumph turned to fear. The werewolves were turning on the vampires that had used them for so long, but she was a vampire and they didn’t know she’d been in on the plan. She turned to flee, shoving at wolves she didn’t really want to hurt even as they tried to maul her, and then Tarvek swept her up into his arms and Gil, still a wolf, raced around them snapping at any wolves who got close. Mostly they didn’t. They took one look at Gil’s shining silver mark and fell back.

The humans had died quickest. Agatha saw them torn open, white clothes drenched in red, as Tarvek sped past. The vampires could not be killed, not by teeth and claws, when they were torn apart they were still alive, moaning wetly, in torment until the next day-trance healed them.

Then they were outside, in a clear summer night, in the gardens around the mansion that served as a meeting place. Tarvek put her down carefully on the grass. Agatha looked up at him — there was a mark on his forehead too, a circle of pure black.

‘I’m okay,’ she said. She was bleeding, but not badly, and it would stop soon.

Tarvek sighed. Wolves were starting to pour out of the mansion, covered in blood. Confused as to what to do next. ‘You’d better sort them out,’ he said, to Gil. ‘You’re the King of the Werewolves now.’ There was a thread of bitterness beneath the words and Agatha patted his shoulder. It had been his plan, his years of work.

Gil transformed and said, ‘Did you learn everything you know about werewolves from vampire libraries?’

‘Where else? I hardly had access to werewolf ones,’ said Tarvek.

‘Okay,’ said Gil. He was smirking slightly, Agatha wanted to tell him not to antagonise Tarvek over this, but he continued before she could. ‘First, the Mark of the Wolf Moon wasn’t a king. He was a hero. It was his duty to help any werewolves in need with strength, courage and skill, but he didn’t have authority over them. _Secondly_ he wasn’t _alone._ ’

Oh. ‘You’ve got one too,’ Agatha said. ‘Not a silver one. A black one. A new moon?’

‘The Were Moon,’ said Gil, grinning. ‘The balance. We’re not just wolves. It’s your job to help werewolves with wisdom and cunning.’ He snorted. ‘I’m glad I got the strength one, you probably have to tell them parables or something.’

‘Because strength without wisdom sounds like such a good idea,’ said Tarvek, pushing his shoulder. ‘I’d better stick with you just to stop you getting into too much trouble.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ said Agatha. ‘Can I come?’

They both turned to look at her and she clasped her hands. She wasn’t even a werewolf, she was one of the people who had enslaved them, and she certainly didn’t have any magical mandate to be a hero. Then they both pounced on her so hard she fell over backwards, talking over each other as they told her how glad they’d be to have her along. Agatha wrapped her arms around their necks and, sore, bleeding and high on adrenaline, felt happier than she’d ever imagined.


	4. Jealousy

It’s not the happy ending Gil imagined. Not that he imagined one without Tarvek, but he imagined one with Agatha. With just Agatha. Where he meant as much to her as she means to him, where he could show her things and watch her create marvels and share everything with her. Instead he shares half of everything with her, her time relentlessly apportioned between her husbands. It’s better than not being with her, better even than losing Tarvek completely, if this is the only solution that would let him stay as a friend. It’s an ending he can live with.

*

It’s not that Tarvek expected more than this. Just having Agatha, any part of her, is more than he sometimes dared to dream of. She’s so carefully fair between him and Gil that he sometimes wonders if she wants to be, if she’s stopping herself from spending more time with the one she’d actually prefer. Gil, who is not constrained to spend time with him, is sometimes friendly, sometimes antagonistic and sometimes gone, returning only when it’s his turn with Agatha, the centre of his universe. They blaze so brightly together, they probably could have been content with just them.

*

It’s not as if Agatha has any reason to be jealous. She’s the one who got what she wanted, marriage to both the men she loves. It’s tricky, trying to balance it, trying to sort out how to do this when the only advice she’s offered is “put them in the harem until you want them”. But what gets her are the times when “do you remember” turns into a flood of gossip. When it’s suddenly borne in on her that she’s known them for a few months, in time actually spent together, and they’ve known each other for years.


	5. Creepypasta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character death? It's pretty ambiguous and not exactly within the story, but it probably doesn't end well.

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

We’ve settled into our flat in Paris. The heating was broken when we moved in but we fixed it (we’re meant to phone the landlord but this was quicker). Gil’s joking about putting himself through medical school doing boiler repair now. Or, if he’s not joking, then he’s thinking of doing so illegally with no qualifications.

Paris is wonderful, although we both miss you. I thought I’d have to drag Gil to theatres and art galleries, but he’s proven quite willing, although he did drag me to nightclubs. We wandered into a number of bookshops and an antique shop one afternoon — Gil bought a *sword* of all things. Not even a real one. It’s a western style sword, but it seems to be carved out of obsidian or some black crystal, the blade is such an exaggerated crystal shape it’s incredibly awkward to hold. I’m pretty sure it’s someone’s old fantasy prop, although to my surprise it is sharp.

I bought something for you, which should be in the post now : )

Love,

Tarvek

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

The necklace was lovely, thank you xx

Things are pretty normal here, if lonely without you and Gil. I’m jealous that you’re older than me! Gil’s sword sound rather amazing, although I don’t know how he thinks he’ll be bringing it home through customs.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

Gil’s avoiding me, I think. At first I thought it was just studies and enjoying Paris, but I hardly ever see him. It’s always nightclubs. At first I thought maybe he was being nice by not dragging me along, but when I asked to come he said yes and then acted really strangely. He kept ignoring me to flirt really obnoxiously with girls, and then he vanished completely and I couldn’t find him anywhere. He seemed jumpy, too, despite the flirting.

Tarvek

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

Do you think he took something? I feel alarmist saying that because it’s *Gil*, normally when he’s jumpy and distracted he’s just had a brilliant idea again. It’s not even the first time he’s alarmed us with it. Do you remember when he decided to build a rocket in his garden and dragged us around to buy parts and chemicals without telling us why?

I don’t know what to do about the rest of it. Do you want me to talk to him?

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

Sorry I’ve taken so long to write back, I was worried after you mentioned drugs, so I was trying to find something out and then I wasn’t sure what to tell you.

I don’t think science is involved in this, I’d be less worried if it was, or if he was dragging me around to find parts for something (you realise you do that too?) What does seem to be involved is girls. Twelve of them. He keeps meeting them in nightclubs and then vanishing. (Always with a guitar case which is… what is he doing, serenading them? Maybe he’s just in a secret band?)

Never more than one girl at once, though. At first I thought it was a different girl every night, but then I started to see the same ones over again. They’re all about your age and pretty (not as pretty as you!)

Do you think he’s cheating on us?

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

Have you been stalking Gil??? Okay, I’m worried too, and I’d probably do the same : ) I *want* to phone him up and yell at him now, but then I’d have to tell him how I knew, and I don’t know if you want him to know? It might be nothing, but if it is he shouldn’t act so suspicious about it.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

GIL’S CLOTHES ARE COVERED IN BLOOD.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

Sorry, I sent that and then realised how little it told you. He’s *not hurt* I promise. But there’s so much blood and he won’t tell me where it came from. We had a huge fight, I told him I’d been following him, so if you want to shout at him about that it’s fine *sigh*. I wish I’d been following him tonight. It’s *Gil* but I can’t help being afraid of what he might have done.

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

I should yell at *you* for scaring me like that!!!

That is worrying, really worrying, but all the same I think you might be overreacting. I know you told me some stuff about your sister, and you’re used to living with that.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

It’s not as if you were the only one scared, there.

If I found blood on Anevka’s clothes I’d start counting the neighbours’ cats. This is worse, because killing a cat would be so out of character for Gil it’s almost as easy to imagine him killing a human.

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

You really are freaked out. I’ll call Gil and see what I can get out of him and then I’ll call you, okay? He *definitely* didn’t kill anyone, though.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

You remember when Gil had blood on his clothes a few weeks ago? I haven’t seen one of the girls since then. There’s no pattern in which of them he sees when, so it took me this long to notice.

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

How are you still following him when he knows about it?

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

By being cleverer than he is.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

Or maybe he’s cleverer than I thought. I managed to follow him further than the nightclub tonight, but I got caught.

He was with one of the girls, a brunette with bright red lipstick, and the two of them went down an alley and into an abandoned building, then down some stairs into a cellar and through a hole in the wall there. They had torches, but I hadn’t dared to bring one since I was trying to follow them unseen, so I got closer, trying to stay on the edge of the pool of light. I couldn’t see much, just the circles of light thrown ahead of them, Gil and the girl were silhouettes.

They went down a short tunnel and then around a corner. Once they were around the corner I had no light, and I stumbled as a followed, catching my hand on the wall. It was set with stones, very smooth but oddly shaped, somehow familiar, and with occasional jagged bits that didn’t seem like stone at all. Then I looked up and saw the circle of light ahead of me illuminating a wall of grinning skulls.

It was only the Paris catacombs, I realised, but I was startled enough to let them get ahead of me and then I didn’t dare to try and follow and risk getting lost, so I waited instead. It was dark, very dark, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and then ahead of me I started to hear this sound like someone cracking their joints over and over again. I couldn’t tell how close it was to me, it seemed very loud. I didn’t have the sense anyone else was with me in the tunnel, but wasn’t sure how much I could trust that sense without my eyesight.

Then the cracking sped up and there was a scream, an awful terrified wail. That was distant, I could tell. It was a woman’s scream too, not Gil, and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sick with horror.

I was still there when they came back, I’d completely forgotten to try to hide from them, Gil’s torch shone straight on me and half blinded me, I couldn’t make him out except as a shadow.

“What are you doing here?” he shouted. He was furious, but he also sounded terrified, as if something had pushed him entirely beyond reason. “What did you see?”

He swung something at me and I realised it was the sword, I could smell the blood on it too. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Who did you hurt?”

He wouldn’t answer, just kept asking over and over again if I’d seen anything, and shoving the point of the sword against my chest. He said next time I followed him he’d run me through.

I’m at a motel. I don’t know what’s happened to Gil and I don’t know what he’s done.

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

After all the time on the phone yesterday I wonder if you’ll think this redundant, but I’m really worried about you. I still think you should go to the police about this, even though I know you won’t. I tried to get in touch with Gil and he’s not answering anything. I suppose I shouldn’t have? If I had got hold of him and yelled at him it might just have put him on his guard or… something. It feels like I’m talking about a stranger.

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

Gil’s gone. That’s what the note says. “I am gone.”

All his stuff’s gone from the flat.

*

To: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

From: Agatha Heterodyne

You should probably still find somewhere else to live. I’m going to be able to visit in a few weeks, hopefully I’ll be able to help. Do you have enough money to stay in a motel that long?

*

To: Agatha Heterodyne

From: Tarvek Sturmvoraus

I’m not in danger from Gil. I know that now. As for the rest of it, I’m walking a dangerous tightrope. If I tell you too little I know you’ll come looking for answers and stumble across it yourself, if I tell you too much I’ve already signed your death warrant.

I went back to the catacombs, if Gil wasn’t going to offer and apology I wanted to at least provide myself with an explanation. This time I saw what he was afraid I’d see and it told me the Rules. I started to write more but then I deleted it, I’m sorry, I don’t know how much is too much.

Gil was protecting the girls, only the one with the sword can.

If I don’t find him I’ll be dead soon.

Please, don’t come to Paris, but if you must at least stay away from the catacombs.

 


	6. Physical Ailments

Tarvek blinked at the already occupied master bed Agatha was about to drop him into. ‘You’re putting us both in the same bed?’

‘It makes it easier to take care of you both,’ she said, sitting him down on the edge of it. ‘Now, you’ve been stabbed, shot, infected, stabbed _again,_ poisoned and narrowly avoided two different ways of crumbling to dust. _Lie down._ ’

‘And it still doesn’t get me any sympathy,’ Tarvek remarked, lying down obediently. It had been a good idea, the room was spinning less like this.

She leant over and kissed his cheek. ‘There, now go to sleep.’

Gil was already doing that. Whatever he and Agatha had done to save Tarvek had evidently taxed the last of his reserves. He was terribly pale, tinged greyish, and lying absolutely still as if his body had no energy left for even shifting position. Someone knocked on the door and Agatha went to open it with a sigh; Tarvek heard her step out and close it behind her and then the buzz of voices. She did still have a town to run and he wasn’t sure what she’d done with the Baron, either. Hopefully something terrible, he thought, looking at Gil.

Tarvek slipped beneath the covers, feeling the world rock with the movement, and had to close his eyes to get his bearings again. His hand brushed Gil’s arm as he shifted and Gil was _cold_. He shifted closer rapidly, ignoring the spinning world, pressing searching fingers against Gil’s throat until he could find a pulse. It was slow but strong and he relaxed, a bit, throwing an arm over Gil and resting his forehead against Gil’s shoulder.

‘Well, that’s not what I was expecting.’ Agatha’s amused voice woke him out of a light doze.

He blinked at her, the world blurry without his glasses. ‘He’s _freezing._ I’m trying to warm him up. What did he do to himself anyway?’

‘Managed to rebuild most of the Wulfenbach Empire.’ There was a note of pride in Agatha’s voice, even though she sounded sad too. ‘And nearly killed himself doing it.’

‘Stupid Wulfenbach.’ This was not why he thought Gil shouldn’t be allowed to rule, but evidently he shouldn’t be. He might actually die next time. Tarvek found himself curling the arm draped over Gil tighter.

‘You’re not doing much better,’ said Agatha. She’d perched on the foot of the bed, close enough that Tarvek could see how fond she looked. ‘I think I’d better take over Europa myself. Neither of you can take care of yourselves, much less a continent.’

Tarvek considered protesting, but all his thoughts were fuzzy. They could discuss the political side of things later, anyway. Besides, he thought muzzily, closing his eyes, if she was actually serious about that it wasn’t as if he could stop her.

 


	7. BDSM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't dark at all -- it's kinky porn and the OT3 are having a great time.

Agatha finished checking the restraints and nodded to Tarvek on the controls. ‘Take him up.’

Gil was lifted and tilted by the machine he was strapped to, the harness taking his weight, so that he ended nearly upright but leaning forward at an angle and not so far off the ground he was out of reach of Agatha, although she’d have to stretch to reach his face. Things continued to move as Tarvek adjusted the angle minutely, and moved the various parts of the machine into place around him, and then he and Agatha both stopped to admire the view.

Gil was straining against the bonds to test them, muscles standing out taut under brown skin. His wrists were cuffed to the slab on either side of his head and his ankles were cuffed too, while thicker straps across his thighs and shoulders took his weight. Around him an array of mechanical prods, claws, whips and electrodes curled inward enticingly, making Gil’s naked body look both powerful and tantalisingly vulnerable.

‘Nice positioning,’ Agatha said, hearing the purr in her own voice. Tarvek had an artist’s eye. She reached up to stroke Gil’s thigh, fingers moving from metal strap to soft skin and back. ‘Comfortable?’ she asked him.

‘Probably more than I should be, considering I’ve been captured by an evil Spark,’ Gil said.

Agatha stopped stroking and frowned at him. ‘I’m sure I can make you authentically uncomfortable without risking nerve damage or asphyxiation.’ Not that it was likely, Gil was verging on Jäger levels of tough which meant she could probably hang him by the neck without him taking too much damage. That didn’t mean she was going to try.

Gil’s eyes slid sideways to the various things pointing at him and he shivered, as much anticipation as nerves. ‘Ready when you are,’ he said.

‘Ready?’ she asked Tarvek.

‘Yes, Lady Heterodyne,’ said Tarvek, sounding meek and respectful even though they hadn’t started yet.

Agatha beamed at him, wide and happy, anticipating fun. ‘Okay! I’m going out for a minute and when I come back in the show’s on.’

She whisked out of the door and shut it behind her then leant back against the wall, getting into character. She was an evil Heterodyne, she’d caught a hero sneaking into her Castle and she was going to make him tell her what he was after. Yes. She picked up the cane she’d left out here earlier, in case she wanted to get hands on. It was a little worrying how much she _did_ like this, especially when the number of torture chambers in the Castle made it pretty clear her ancestors had also liked seeing people helpless and in pain. She twitched her shoulders to throw off the thought, she’d been through it in her head enough times. As with so many things it made all the difference when her victim was not only willing but eager.

…And she’d kept him waiting long enough. She straightened out her tight leather dress and threw the door open with all the bombast she’d use on stage.

Gil threw himself against the restraints the moment she entered, snarling at her. Underneath she could see his enjoyment of struggling with all his might and remaining bound. It made the requirements for the machines ridiculously high, but he liked it, and it made him so _pretty._ Every muscle stood out in high definition and the look on his face was of wild determination, the hero beaten but not yet bowed.

‘So,’ said Agatha, advancing on him. ‘Look what I’ve caught. Which of the Heterodyne secrets were you after this time, Hero?’

‘What makes you think I’d tell you?’ Gil’s growl was more halfhearted than his struggling had been. He was working himself up, but until he got there he wasn’t the actor Agatha was, and he was more embarrassed by clichés.

Agatha gave him a predatory smile and pushed his chin up with the end of the cane. ‘I can be _very_ convincing. Minion!’ She turned to Tarvek and caught him leaning one elbow on the side of the control panel, a half smile on his face. Well, that wouldn’t do. She strode across the room and smacked the control panel with her cane, ‘It is not your job to enjoy the show. I don’t think you’re paying proper attention here.’

Tarvek sat up straighter. ‘Sorry, Mistress.’

‘I doubt it.’ Agatha yanked his head back by his ponytail, exposing his throat. ‘But if I catch you lounging around on the job again, I can _make_ you sorry.’ Her voice was all Spark and velvet threat and Tarvek’s eyes went wide behind his glasses most gratifyingly. She let go and turned back to Gil. He’d turned his head sideways to watch them, and his eyes were half closed, glittering under his lashes, his body half relaxed in that deceptive way that was the equivalent of a ready position in a swordfight.

‘So this is how you treat even your own,’ he said, eyes fixed on Tarvek.

She grinned. ‘Trying to subvert my minions? Haven’t you learnt by now? This is Mechanicsburg.’ The pride that surged through her was not part of the game, not entirely. Mechanicsburg was hers, hearts, bodies and souls, and while Tarvek only belonged to her that deeply for the length of this game it was still a heady thing to have a town like that. ‘Minion! The electrodes!’

The electrodes snaked out on their wires, trilobite shaped and painted gold, six of them forming two lines of three down the curve of Gil’s hip to his groin. Her symbol looked very nice, decorating Gil’s skin. ‘I always liked having my sigil on my things,’ she remarked.

‘You think I’m yours just because you caught me?’ Now she could hear the Madness Place in Gil’s voice, sharp with defiance.

‘I think you’re going to be mine once I’m done breaking you,’ she said, stroking her hand down his thigh under the electrodes, then curling her fingers to turn the stroke into a scratch. ‘You’ll beg to tell me what I want to know. And to do anything else I want.’

‘Never.’

‘Setting one,’ she called back over her shoulder. Gil tensed in anticipation of the shock and then arced with it, head thrown back and throat exposed. Agatha snapped the cane against his upper arm, making him hiss as much with surprise as pain, and then pressed her finger lightly against the red mark it had left. ‘Stop.’ She put the tip of the cane to her mouth and regarded Gil, limp in the wake of the shock, half hard, and glistening with sweat. A moment later she caught herself gnawing on the tip of the cane, which she felt her evil ancestors hadn’t… no, they probably had, most of them hadn’t needed to work on being taken seriously. ‘Nipple clamps,’ she said, thoughtfully. The nipple clamps slid out with a soft click and clamped into place. The were shaped like large crocodile clips and shone silver, which definitely added to the aesthetics of the scene, but were not actually conductive. Agatha prefered to keep electricity away from people’s hearts if she wasn’t revivifying them. ‘Setting two, random shocks.’

Random shocks meant whenever Tarvek chose, it meant as long as she kept Gil’s attention on her he wouldn’t be able to anticipate them.

‘Ready to talk?’ she asked Gil, whipping the cane across his upper thigh below the clamps.

‘You’ll never get away with this!’ Gil said, and then turned red. Agatha could see the thought _oh no, I sound like Othar_ cross his mind and had to look away herself to keep from giggling. This was not terribly conducive to her Evil Overlord act, oh dear. Be evil.

‘We’ll see about that,’ she said, which did not do much to rescue the dialogue. She flicked the nipple clamp with the tip of her cane and wished she had a scalpel for a moment — Gil was fine with them, but for Tarvek blades tended to be a reminder of his sister at her worst and not very sexy.

Gil arced as the stronger shock from the second setting went through him, unable to really lift away from the slab he pushed his shoulders into it, stomach pushing out slightly. ‘You think I’d give them up to your depravity,’ he panted.

‘I think you haven’t seen depravity yet.’ She slapped his erect cock with her hand, feeling it twitch as Gil whined.

‘Really?’ Gil’s voice was thrumming with the Spark. ‘I think this is all you’ve - ah! - got.’

Agatha curled her mouth in a grin that owed quite a lot to the Jägers. ‘Minion! The claws!’

The claws unfolded from behind Gil and folded back around him, like the two halves of a clam shell closing. They were purely mechanical with no artifice, nothing but bare armature, and it made them look like the hands of a skeletal beast. Every one ended in a sharp hook that came to rest against Gil’s skin, from just below the collar bone, sweeping in to curve across the breast and stomach, and then running down his legs. Gil was getting ready to struggle, see if he could get out from under a couple of claws just to thwart her, when Agatha added, ‘Every one tipped with a different poison.’

Gil went still as suddenly as if it might actually be true, yes, good, now they were getting it. Agatha started to describe the effects of each poison in excited detail, pressing the corresponding claw down with the crop as she did, watching Gil try to pull back and fail. The next shock he tried not to move under, glistening with sweat from the effort, whining slightly in his throat and then shooting her a defiant glare. So vulnerable. She could take him to pieces right now.

‘And now I have something special for you,’ she said, hearing the unsteadiness in her voice. There was a coiling heat in her belly and she was wet under her dress. ‘Just don’t move.’ She turned to Tarvek, who was watching her with the kind of awe that made his minion act extremely believable. ‘Time for the probe.’

Tarvek hesitated and glanced at Gil, who gave him a quick nod, before saying, ‘Yes, Mistress.’

She leant the cane against the machinery and stepped back so that she’d be able to see both of them. The rapt concentration on Tarvek’s face as he watched Gil, fingers running lightly but surely over the controls. Gil’s expression as the metal probe built into the slab slid outwards and between his buttocks. He gasped as it inched into him, face screwed up in concentration as he let it enter him, and then relaxing once it was in. Tarvek’s hands stroked the controls and Gil groaned as it moved inside him. Then Gil cried out, eyes falling shut, as it found the spot it was looking for, and…

‘Enough!’ Agatha barked.

Gil’s eyes flew open. ‘What!’

She bared her teeth at him. ‘Unless you’d like to tell me the names of your companions?’

‘You!’ Gil squirmed, trying to move enough to get stimulation without breaking his skin on the claws. ‘N-No. Never.’

‘Minion, come here,’ Agatha said. ‘Kneel.’

Tarvek went to his knees obediently in front of her. ‘What do you desire, Mistress?’

Agatha hiked her dress up around her waist, she could smell the salt-wet in the air. With one hand she reached down and lifted Tarvek’s glasses off carefully, holding them between finger and thumb. ‘Let’s see you put your mouth to good use.’

He did as he was told, resting one hand on her hip for balance, cool against her overheated skin. His other hand was down his pants, she could order him to stop touching himself, but she wasn’t trying to torture her minion. Let Gil see what he was missing. She let her eyes go to him as she buried one hand in Tarvek’s hair and shuddered in pleasure at the touch of his tongue. She could see the pulse jumping in Gil’s throat, when his eyes met hers they were fierce with a desire she could drown in, that he already seemed to be drowning in. ‘Mmmm,’ she said as Tarvek found a sweet spot, she put on a show of it for Gil, letting it run through her body like a purr. ‘You have pleased your Mistress,’ she added, turning her grip on Tarvek’s hair into petting, feeling him lean into it.

‘Will no one have you except your minions?’ Gil asked, fighting breathlessness.

‘Wouldn’t you have me if you could?’

Gil made a choked sound and she came, hard, swaying on her feet.

When she’d got her breath back she added, still sounding a little dazed, ‘In fact, I take excellent care of my minions.’ She pulled Tarvek to his feet and tugged him against her, sliding his cock into her, almost too sensitised to enjoy it but not quite. He clutched at her shoulders, the two of them rocking together until he came with a moan of satisfaction and to the background of Gil’s tortured whine.

‘Katerina,’ Gil gasped. ‘That was her name, curse you.’

The surge of triumph Agatha felt had her strutting back over to him, glowing with the knowledge of her victory. ‘Good Hero,’ she said, softly. ‘And now for your reward.’ She took his cock in her hand and he barely needed a touch before he came, violently, going totally limp in the restraints afterwards.

‘That was amazing,’ he said, softly.

Agatha smiled at him, just Agatha again now. ‘Totally worth the time we spent building it,’ she agreed. ‘Tarvek, would you mind bringing him down?’

Gil slid to the floor as soon as he was loose and the other two sat down on either side of him, Agatha offering a bottle of water. Gil drank it and then drooped onto Tarvek’s shoulder, where Tarvek put an arm around him without comment. It was only at times like this Gil was easy to coddle, and she knew Tarvek enjoyed it. For herself she leant back against a convenient bit of machine and looked at them with a deep fondness that carried the knowledge that, while they weren’t hers the way they were when they played, even in reality they were no one else’s.

 


	8. Darkness

Agatha woke in darkness so complete she wasn’t sure whether she’d opened her eyes at first and then thought she might have gone blind. She scrambled into a crouch, feeling twinges in her bruised body as she did, and the last few minutes came back to her. They’d fallen, a sudden hole in the tunnel floor. Red Fire, they’d been herded towards it. Hypothesis: She wasn’t blind, she was somewhere very, very dark. Hypothesis: the Geisterdamen had wanted her down here, if they didn’t already have people waiting they would be here soon. She needed to not be where they were expecting her. Except Gil and Tarvek had fallen too. She needed to gather them and _then_ run.

She started to feel around her, cautiously, feeling the cool rock of the cave floor and then the jagged ivory of bones. ‘Gil. Tarvek.’ She whispered more than shouted and still it seemed to echo. Something moved in the dark, a long way to her left, and she started, folding low to the floor like a rabbit. Could Geisterdamen see in the dark? If they could it was already too late. If that was them, if it wasn’t one of the boys having been thrown further than she’d expected or having moved after waking. If they couldn’t, then, even if they had the advantages of familiarity with this pitch blackness, of other senses — oh god she wished she had a Jäger with her now — they still couldn’t locate her easily except by sound. As long as she didn’t call out she had time.

She started patting the ground more lightly, frantically. There were more sounds now, all around her, and she imagined those huge spiders moving in the dark. Any sound could be Gil or Tarvek or a Geister, just as any sound they heard could be her. She wanted to scream, shout for them, at least have them together. She wanted to run and couldn’t abandon them. She felt so helpless, useless, worthless, what could she do? In a situation like this she was still reduced to panic, her heart hammering, her lungs fighting between holding her breath and gasping for it. No, no, she was Agatha Heterodyne, she’d think of something. Heterodynes always thought of something.

Her hand hit a skeleton, this one slimy with something, and she wheezed out the corpse of a scream. _Leather_ , her spinning mind supplied. _Rotten leather._ She moved her hand away and something clinked as she disturbed it. _Rotten tool pouch._

She started to carefully search through the tools, the damp metal like a touchstone as her fingers danced over wrenches and screwdrivers and saws. She was a Heterodyne. The panic receded.

 


	9. Ghosts

‘Tarvek.’

Tarvek turns halfway through putting a book back on the shelf and a moment later it falls to the floor. Anevka stands there, some mixture of Anevkas, looking like she did when she was human but skin gleaming silver. Her hair is one of her perfectly coifed wigs. The floor is visible through her.

‘Hello, little brother.’

‘Anevka.’ He swallows, eyes darting to the door. He looks like an animal wanting to run and afraid it will trigger a chase instinct. ‘Why are you here?’

‘You killed me.’ She’s impassive, her face as expressionless as when she was a machine.

‘You weren’t alive.’

‘Would you say that about one of your precious Muses?’ She spits the words from a still face. ‘I was as alive as any of them.’

He picks the book up and turns, shoulders tense, to put it back in its slot. He speaks without looking up. ‘You weren’t my sister.’

‘Then I was your creation. I suppose that did give you the right to discard me when you were done, when you no longer needed the emotional crutch. Father would have done the same.’ She watches him flinch. ‘You always were a selfish child.’

‘ _You_ are accusing me of selfishness?’ Tarvek’s voice is high, incredulous, as he turns to face her again.

Anevka laughs. ‘ _I_ learnt to enjoy having blood on my hands.’ She takes a step towards him, to the edge of the rug. ‘You were such a sweet child. Perhaps it was that you were the only one who looked at me like I was real, like I mattered. _Such_ irony.’

‘That-that wasn’t you.’

‘But I remember it. I remembered all of it while I watched you override my will and switch me off.’ A pause. A fan flickers into existence in her hand and she raises it over her mouth, eyeing him over its rim. ‘Did you know I killed Mother when she tried to install a free will override on you?’

‘You _what?’_

‘Father took your obedience for granted, but she was no such fool. You were her ticket to the throne, you know, I think she meant to kill Father once she’d done it. Before he could bring his Mistress back, certainly.’

‘This isn’t true, you’re making it up.’

‘I’m not. I came back _just_ to tell you. After all, you got to tell me some interesting things while I had to listen, didn’t you?’ Her eyes flicker, grey to blue and back. ‘You always thought you were better than the rest of us, no matter how cold or conniving, as long as you could keep your hands clean.’

‘ _You betrayed me first_ ,’ he says, low and intense. There are tears collecting behind his glasses.

‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘You had so many options in that situation if you’d decided not to betray me.’

He tips his head up. ‘The same could be said of you.’

‘We betrayed each other. We always knew we would.’ She lifts her hand and the bookcases start to tremble. ‘But I owe you a death.’

The bookcases start to tilt inwards, the door slams closed as he makes a break for it. He turns around and puts his back against the door, a fox at bay. ‘Anevka… please…’

‘Sentiment,’ she says.

A shout from outside. ‘Castle! Open this door!’

The door swings in and Tarvek sprawls onto the floor. A moment later Agatha enters, stepping over him to stand face to face with the ghost. She seems unperturbed. Gil, entering a moment later, is more easily startled and skips half a step back when he sees her, before reaching down to pick Tarvek up.

‘I was settling a debt,’ says Anevka. She twirls, showing the view of the library through her, the looming bookcases out of their places. ‘You can’t hurt me and you can’t stop me.’

‘No, _you_ can’t hurt _me_ ,’ says Agatha. ‘Castle, what are you playing at?’

Anevka smiles, wide, the first expression she’s shown yet. It’s terrifying. ‘You’ve mistaken me for your house?’

‘You’re standing on the hologram equipment.’

The flat statement makes Anevka falter and Tarvek blink as if he’s waking from a dream. ‘But she knew things,’ he says.

‘ _Castle_ ,’ says Agatha. ‘What’s going on? If I have to ask again it will be with a hammer.’

‘Oh very _well_ ,’ says the Castle from a nearby wall, sulky. ‘A peddler salvaged her head and brought it here to sell. I convinced them to give it to me.’

‘You’ve wired her into yourself?’ says Gil, incredulous.

The Castle hums. ‘I like her. She’d make a nice torture chamber.’

‘I like it,’ says Anevka, defiantly, backing as far from Agatha as the hologram equipment allows. ‘It told me I could be Anevka or not as I chose, that a transformation to machine was just a transformation and it had done the same. It offered me revenge.’

‘Well, you certainly won’t be getting that,’ says Agatha, hands on hips. ‘And as for the rest of it, once I find out where you’re plugged in —’

‘Leave her,’ says Tarvek. His voice is hoarse and he swallows before continuing. ‘You can order the Castle to make her leave me alive. She’s no worse than it is and it can curb her if you tell it to. I never wanted her dead.’ His eyes meet hers, lost and pleading.

She tosses her head and turns away. ‘I’ll consider that repayment of your debt.’

Agatha lets out her breath. ‘Very well. Castle, she is not allowed to hurt anyone. Especially not Tarvek.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ says the Castle, sounding disappointed.

The image of Anevka fades away.

 


	10. Forbidden Relationship

She loves them. She loves Mechanicsburg more.

She sleeps with them, at first, unwed. But Tarvek believes in his legacy as strongly as she believes in hers, if she will not give him legitimate heirs someone else will. He stays away from her, to avoid scandal or perhaps to guard his heart, something is always closed behind his eyes.

Gil refuses to care about his legacy, why does it matter if a Wulfenbach rules? But in the end he is wooed with stability, politics, duty. He meets her eyes and does not mask his yearning.

She misses them like breathing.

 


	11. Lovecraftian Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character death.

They filter Tarvek’s blood, they bring him safe through time, they think they’ve saved him. But he doesn’t recover, he’s burning, feverish, and strangely docile. He asks nothing of what has happened, he asks nothing at all, and eats only when fed. At night he curls into a ball and cries, sharp, whimpering sobs that barely sound human, far beyond any ability to calm himself. Agatha sits with him, but he barely seems aware of her, staring in a way that makes her wonder if he’s blind, although he could see to eat a few hours before.

‘What is it?’ she says, again and again, hands rubbing his back. Gil sits on the other side of the bed, looking uncomfortable even though he’s as worried as she is.

Tarvek shakes his head, turning away from her, but one night he finally answers. ‘It was that creature. I can see the past.’

‘The _past?’_ Agatha asks. ‘Like remembering?’

‘No.’ He shifts, curling tighter, burying his head in his arms. ‘All the ways things went, all the ways they could have gone. Sometimes you don’t go through Sturmhalten, that’s better. The ones where I die young are best.’

‘Tarvek, _no,_ ’ she says, distressed by how bleak he sounds.

He stiffens, and when he speaks his voice is no longer trembling and carries some of his old haughtiness. ‘I’m talking facts.’

‘You’re talking hallucinations, you’ve been burning up for days,’ she says firmly.

He doesn’t respond.

‘How young?’ says Gil.

‘ _Gil!’_ snaps Agatha.

‘I would have missed him on Castle Wulfenbach.’

Tarvek’s eyes open, flicking back and forth blindly as if he’s tracing futures where Gil never knew him. ‘…Maybe not that young,’ he mutters.

Gil pats his shoulder, roughly. ‘Don’t die now everything’s fixed, anyway, that’s moronic.’

Tarvek laughs, weak and soundless. ‘I’m not dying on purpose. But there aren’t any futures where I live long.’

It’s later, when Gil is asleep on the other side of the bed, frowning in his dreams, that Agatha says softly, ‘Tarvek?’

His eyes fix on her this time, although they’re still strangely dilated.

She squeezes his hand. ‘Whatever might have happened differently, knowing you was worth it.’

He squeezes back, tears standing out on his lashes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to die when I might finally do some good.’

‘I’m sorry too. I should have done a better job of saving you.’ She’s still trying, but whether or not his visions have any basis in reality, it’s the rift in time that’s damaged him, not the poison. She doesn’t know how to fix it. ‘How long?’

‘A few days.’

‘I’m still working on it.’

‘I know.’

‘You don’t believe it will work.’

‘I know it won’t. But I know you’ll try.’ He drifts off into a troubled sleep, still holding her hand, and Agatha tries to believe he’s wrong.

 


	12. Rough Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit out of ideas for this one, but the prompt mentioned biting and scratching, so I returned to the vampire/werewolf AU for silliness.

‘Are you biting me?’ Gil asked, indignantly.

‘ _You’re_ biting _me!_ ’ Agatha returned, pulling back and licking the taste of Gil off her lips.

‘On the shoulder! That’s normal for werewolves! You just went for my wrist!’

‘I wasn’t draining you, you just taste good,’ said Agatha, blushing. She had left toothmarks over his vein, oh dear. ‘I’ll, um, I’ll try not to.’

She tried to only trace him with her fingers, keep her mouth away from him, no kissing or licking, even though his throat looked so tantalising. She found herself bending forwards, nostrils filled with his scent, and then Tarvek wound a hand into her hair and tugged. The shock of it pulled her out of bloodlust and back to a more human kind of arousal, and she moaned and relaxed at the same time.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like that.’

Gil looked up at her, eyes dark and bright. ‘Can I still bite you?’

Agatha smiled, Tarvek’s other hand stroking most distractingly down her back. ‘Go ahead.’

 


	13. Missing Someone

Ruling alone was what Gil’s father did. It was never what Gil wanted to do.

He misses Agatha so fiercely it consumes him. He’d dreamed once of ruling with her by his side, before he even knew who she was, having someone smart and determined and amazing to support him. Letting himself burn with it, building statues to his loss, is the only rebellion he can manage. Because it’s not just Agatha, it’s everyone.

He misses Theo and Sleipnir, an easy friendship full of loyalty and fun. They’d just happened to be in Mechanicsburg, they weren’t taken from him deliberately (but they would have been, he remembers letters gone astray).

He misses Wooster, a quiet, complicated presence, friend, servant and spy. That one is his own fault, he’d destroyed their relationship entirely to try to keep Agatha safe, scared Wooster into reluctant minionhood. He vaguely hopes he didn’t get him into too much trouble with England.

He misses Zoing, his oldest friend, the one he made himself. It’s hardly safe around here, now, for little arthropod constructs.

He misses Tarvek, far more enemy than friend, and only back in his life for two days. Sly, manipulative, neck deep in trouble he either causes or attracts. Clever, enduring, observant. Loyal, in his own way, the weasel, for all the secrets he keeps.

He misses his father. There’s a presence in his mind like someone standing in his blind spot. It’s unnerving, but worse he sometimes finds it reassuring when loneliness is eating him from the inside out. Sometimes he wishes it would speak.


	14. Angel/Demon AU

There is something torn and bleeding on the floor, although it’s not bleeding blood. Some red-black substance is bleeding from it, that coils and twists like dye in water and seems to be both shadow and light.

The thing… the thing is a demon. With bat wings, goat legs and little horns, it should look like a pantomime demon or a cartoon, but somehow it is both pitiful and horrific. The legs look twisted, wrong, as if someone has pulled human feet out of shape and then stuck hooves over the toes. The horns are jagged protrusions of the skull. The wings look naked, half-formed. And then there is the damage, the open slashes across the chest. She doesn’t know whether to run or try to staunch it and then she looks at the face. Tarvek. Her fellow scientist, her colleague, and this can’t be real.

‘Don’t be afraid.’ The voice is gentle, but she starts and turns and there’s an angel standing between her and the door. The door of her own apartment, and when did she get home? His skin is glowing golden, his wings the colour of light run through a prism. There’s a sword the same colour at his belt.

‘Of course I’m afraid!’ Agatha snaps, because she is and fear makes her angry. ‘I have no idea what’s going on or what you did to Tarvek!’

‘ _I_ didn’t,’ the angel protests. ‘The one riding you did.’

‘The one riding me?’ Agatha can hear her own voice rising hysterically. The last thing she remembers is being in Tarvek’s house for a drink after work and… she’d felt a bit sleepy after that first drink, hadn’t she?

‘It’s okay, she’s gone.’ The angel stoops to put a hand on her shoulder, his wing brushing her back with sleek feathers the size of her forearm. It’s reassuring, in a way, grounds her in the reality of the situation. Those are feathers, this is real. She sniffs and rubs the back of her hand over her eyes.

‘I was possessed?’

‘It’s his own fault, if you didn’t invite her through he must have done. And that one always betrays her companions.’ He sounds agitated and it occurs to Agatha that he’s standing in a room with a wounded and helpless demon at his feet and a sword at his belt.

‘You don’t want him to die.’

‘He _can’t_ die. He’s a demon. He’ll just go bodiless back to Hell.’

‘That sounds awful.’

‘It’s Hell, it’s meant to be awful.’ The angel folds his arms. ‘He lives there, he’s used to it.’ But he doesn’t seem to be leaving, and he isn’t attacking Tarvek.

Agatha wonders if Tarvek — who likes nice restaurants and art movies and reads fashion magazines at work — is really used to Hell. She stands up. ‘I’m going to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. I don’t know what kind of medical attention demons need, but keeping that… stuff inside him seems like a good start.’

‘I’ll do it,’ says the angel, from her living room, as she grabs the first aid kit from the shelf.

‘Really?’ she asks.

‘I’m meant to protect you. That “stuff” is tainted ichor, and it’s not a good idea for mortals to touch it.’

Agatha hands him the first aid kit, glad that her tendency to do experiments at home means she keeps lots of bandages on hand. He kneels by Tarvek, bandaging that strange form with surprising gentleness. Agatha blinks, the apartment seems to be wobbling slightly, and she’s starting to feel sick. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ she says. ‘Would you like one?’

The angel looks at her in obvious surprise, then smiles, and for the first time she can see him as good looking rather than awe-inspiring. ‘Thank you,’ he says.

When Agatha comes back with the tea Tarvek is neatly bandaged and cushions from the couch have been placed under his head and back, where it lifts him off the joints of his wings. He still looks pale and injured, but no longer like a torn mess. The angel is sitting on the floor next to him, chewing his lip.

‘You know him, don’t you?’ Agatha says.

‘We’ve been enemies for a long time.’ The angel stands up. ‘I need to go and see if the one who was riding you is completely gone.’ He pulls out a feather, this one a little longer than Agatha’s palm, and gives it to her. It sits in her hand scintillating with its own light. ‘If you need me, break it and call for Gadiel.’

‘Gadiel,’ she says, softly. ‘That’s your name? I’m Agatha.’

He smiles at her. ‘Pleased to meet you. You’re dealing with this very well.’

‘I’m terrified, but running screaming isn’t going to help.’

He puts a hand gently on her shoulder again, as if she might be very fragile compared to him. ‘I’m always just a word away. If Tarvek wakes up, call me, and don’t trust anything he says.’

‘I do know he’s a demon,’ says Agatha.

‘Right.’ Gadiel pulls away and opens the door, stepping out of it in a departure so ordinary it’s almost surreal.

Agatha looks at the wounded demon on her floor and the shining feather in her hand then lets herself slide down the wall to huddle with her head against her knees.

‘Agatha?’ she doesn’t know how long she’s been curled up in a daze, but the voice calling her isn’t Gadiel’s. It’s a far more familiar one.

‘Tarvek.’ She looks up, seeing his head twisted to look at her. His eyes have always been strange, distinctly dark but of a colour she could never quite put her finger on. Now they shine the same red-black as his ichor. She grips the feather tightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, sounding a little dazed, but oddly sincere.

‘That’s not a very demonic thing to say.’ She should break the feather, but she isn’t sure what Gadiel might do to an alive and conscious Tarvek, especially if she seems to have sent an alarm call.

Tarvek winces. He reaches a hand up to his chest and then his eyes widen in alarm as he finds the bandages. ‘Did you…?’

‘No,’ says Agatha. ‘Gadiel did.’

‘ _Gadiel?_ But he’s an angel. He _hates_ me.’

‘ _I_ don’t like you much right now, either,’ says Agatha, uncurling and glaring at him. She should be scared. This is a demon. But it sounds like Tarvek, her friend and co-worker, and it drops its eyes and looks ashamed of itself the way Tarvek would. ‘You invited someone to possess me.’

‘That’s why they incarnated me, to get onto the project,’ he says, gaze sliding around the room. ‘Then I was meant to bring her through.’

They were working on drugs that opened people to hypnotic suggestion in some pretty major ways. Useful for therapy, but _lots_ of potential for abuse. ‘I can’t believe after all that security screening they let a literal demon onto the project.’

‘No one checks their anti-demon security measures nowadays,’ says Tarvek. ‘But, Gadiel, really?’

‘You know him, don’t you?’ Agatha says, for the second time that day. ‘He said you were enemies, but he seemed pretty eager to keep you alive. Out of Hell. However it works for you.’

‘We’ve been enemies for a long time.’ Tarvek’s wings draw up, around him, like a sleeping bat. ‘We were friends once.’

‘I didn’t know demons and angels could be friends,’ says Agatha.

Tarvek’s voice is bleak. ‘They can’t.’

‘Oh? Oh! Before you, um —’ Agatha’s sure it’s not tactful to ask a demon about falling.

‘Before,’ agrees Tarvek.

‘Gadiel said the demon you were working with always betrays the people she works with,’ says Agatha, grasping at a subject change. ‘He’s gone out to look for her.’

‘That’s true of all demons. We’re treacherous by nature.’ Agatha wonders if she’s imagining the note of apology in Tarvek’s voice.

‘What happens when you recover?’ she asks sharply. ‘Are you going to bring someone else through to possess me?’

‘If I don’t want to be hunted down and shredded before they send someone else. I’m sorry.’

Agatha grips the feather tightly. If she’s going to be hunted by demons for the foreseeable future she’s going to need an angel on call. ‘You’re clearly not very sorry if you’re already planning to do it again!’ she shouts.

The door to the apartment opens. ‘Agatha?’ says Gadiel, then he sees Tarvek. ‘I told you to call me when he woke up!’

‘I’m sick of supernatural beings trying to take over my life!’ she shouts at him, before remembering that she’s going to need his help.

His wings ruffle with annoyance, sending ripples of light dancing over the walls. ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to talk to a demon alone?’

‘He hasn’t hurt me! Although he’s made it clear he intends to help someone else possess me soon rather than risk _himself_.’

‘Of course he would, he’s a demon,’ says Gadiel. ‘What were you expecting?’

Tarvek sits up, wings flaring behind him. ‘It’s not as if I have a —’ he begins hotly. Then he stops, head cocked to one side, smiling. Little fangs slip over his bottom lip and it's oddly cute. It’s also an expression that normally means he’s had a breakthrough. ‘There _is_ another way,’ he says. ‘How do you feel about bossing a supernatural being around?’

‘What?’ says Agatha.

‘Binding spells,’ says Tarvek. ‘They were very popular around eight centuries ago. Hell can’t place demands on a demon bound to serve a mortal sorcerer, we’re just counted as out of commission until our Master dies. And we’re stuck on Earth for the duration, too.’ He sounds very happy about that last bit.

Agatha kneels next to him. ‘You really trust me that much?’

‘You didn’t have Gadiel kill me,’ he says, touching his bandaged chest. ‘And you’ve always been kind.’

Gadiel snorts. ‘You’re a long way up from the people he usually serves. And if he’s bound to you he’ll be able to drive other demons off instead of inviting them in. But I’m staying to see what the conditions of the binding are.’

‘I’m not Mephistopheles,’ Tarvek protests. ‘I wasn’t going to ask for her soul.’

He actually asks for a subscription to _Vogue_ and looks smug when it makes Gadiel laugh in the middle of the binding.

 


	15. Sensory Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to not-actually-dark porn for this one :)

The steel helmet is rounded, with protruding hemispheres over each ear. There are no eye holes, but set into the front of it around where each eye would be is a circle of brass. Like most things made by Agatha it’s vaguely cute. Tarvek turns it over in his hands.

They’re in the master bed, which is a great deal of bed, Gil and Agatha one to either side of him. All three of them are sitting at the head, lounging against the pillows. Late afternoon sun turns dust to light motes in the air, and turns Gil’s skin and Agatha’s hair to gold. Agatha’s eyes are sparkling and there’s colour in her cheeks. He slips the helmet on.

Blackness closes around him, so thorough it’s disorienting, even knowing where he was, where they were, a second ago. It’s not just sight, either, it’s sound, and he didn’t realise until he can’t that he could hear their breathing. He can’t hear the sounds from the town outside, or the servants moving around the rest of the Castle; if it wasn’t for the blankets under him he could be anywhere. Even scent is gone, all he can smell is his own breath on the inside of the helmet.

Agatha and Gil could be gone, they could have got up and left him, he wouldn’t know. He reaches out, half in panic, finding them still on either side of him, and grabs at their arms. Gil is probably laughing. He forces himself to let go, draws back in on himself. Maybe he should just take the helmet off.

Agatha’s hand smoothes over his shoulder, runs down his arm. The touch seems to expand in his head to take up the gaps left by his other senses, his whole body quiveringly alive to it. She nuzzles against his shoulder, a soft cascade of sensations. Smooth skin, soft lips, warm breath, tickling hair. Gil’s hand finds his hip, a smooth firm touch with a slight catching sensation of callus.

He sighs, nerves still wound tight with not knowing lending a sharp edge to his perceptions. Agatha wraps her arms around him, bars of warmth across his back and chest, her breasts soft against his side. Gil shifts around, skin and blankets jostling against Tarvek, and then pulls Tarvek into his lap. A wall of warm muscle behind him, legs sliding down the outsides of his thighs. It’s grounding, reassuring, they’re here surrounding him. It doesn’t matter where anything else is. Agatha’s hands gently part his legs and she drops overwhelming kisses down the insides of his thighs, her hair tickling his belly.

When she slides away he whines, and for a moment embarrassment tries to cut through the way his mind is floating in sensation. Then Gil nips at his shoulder and the sharpness pulls his thoughts away, before Gil switches to nuzzling, to running gentle hands over his belly. Gil is hard under him, the sensation teasing, little shocks of pleasure when it rubs right.

Agatha’s hands return, slick and cold with oil, making him shiver as she slides them down his thighs and under his ass. She slicks Gil’s cock, first, her hands moving under him in a way too fascinating for him to be impatient. He shifts his weight to his feet, pushes upwards to make it easier for her. Then her fingers slide inside him, slicking him and opening him all at once, and he doesn’t know what his body does because all he can do is feel.

She squeezes his hand, her other hand not moving inside him, and he can feel her question.

‘I’m fine.’ His voice is flat inside the helmet, conducted to his ears through his bones, but they can hear it. ‘Better than fine.’ He can’t read his own tone of voice, can’t guess at or control how he sounds to them.

Gil kisses the small of his back and then shifts him to ease in. He goes slow, gentle, but the effect isn’t gentleness so much as a drawing out of each sensation, so that it seems as if each falls separate as a note in a melody. Then he’s in, and still, Tarvek burning with heat at the centre. Agatha shifts over them, her weight resting on Tarvek’s thighs, one hand against his chest. The other slips around the base of his cock, guides it into her. She’s so warm, so tight, they’re both so warm. Tarvek is wrapped in sensation, in a universe that is nothing but them. When they start to move the universe moves with them, and there is nothing but building sensation until he comes.

Agatha slips the helmet off afterwards, leaving Tarvek blinking in the light, strangely disoriented by finding himself still in the master bed and still with a room beyond it and a town beyond that. People are crying their wares in the distance, Jägers on guard are arguing about cards.

Agatha kisses his nose. ‘Enjoy it?’

Neither she nor Gil seem terribly inclined to unwrap themselves. Tarvek reclines against Gil and savours the memory of sensation. ‘Yes. You were amazing.’


	16. Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character death.

They don’t know it’s the last time, although perhaps they wouldn’t be surprised. They know they’re old.

Agatha’s skin hangs fine and wrinkled as crêpe on her bones, silver hair brittle as glass cascading behind her. Moonlit more than sunlit now, but still so beautiful. Tarvek, soft, plump and bald, eyes creased with laughter and unwarily expressive. Gil, veins standing out like a map against raw bones, fanged smile gone tender. They are slow, now, gentle, but they know one another’s bodies as they know their own.

Afterwards they curl together easily in sleep. One of them will not wake.


	17. Fears/Phobias

Gil and Agatha’s voices both rise to shouts, fury and frustration thrumming through them along with the Spark. On the other side of the door Tarvek waits. Sometimes their fights make him feel smug — _he_ never makes Agatha that angry — other times regretful — it’s still passion, and it’s directed firmly at Gil — and then Agatha’s voice hits a certain note and he’s through the door to ask how their levitation device is coming along.

Agatha catches on to him, eventually. ‘Are you trying to stop me arguing with Gil?’ she asks, one day, when it’s just the two of them.

‘Not all the time,’ he says, flippantly. ‘I do know you enjoy it.’

‘I do not enjoy it. Gil’s just so pigheaded it’s impossible not to argue with him.’ She pushes her hair back, nose in the air, but her cheeks are flushed. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to wait around to divert us.’

‘You just get very… _heated_. Sometimes,’ he says, eyes firmly on the ceiling. ‘I’m never sure what might happen.’

‘I can handle Gil! And, anyway, he wouldn’t hurt me,’ she adds as an afterthought.

‘That’s not… I know you don’t really want to hurt him. But you wouldn’t have to want it for very long. Not here.’ Living inside a death trap is not really so very different from the rest of his life. At least this one’s owned by someone who likes him. But he doesn’t stop being _aware_ that the Castle has teeth.

‘Oh,’ says Agatha. She actually sounds a little mollified, and then the indignation returns. ‘I’m not going to hurt Gil, either. Really, I’m not a monster.’

‘Of course not,’ he says, because what else can he say?’

*

Gil pokes him in the small of the back on the way past, an unnecessarily annoying way of getting his attention. ‘Agatha says you’re worried about me.’

‘Oh, wonderful.’ He flings his arms up in disgust, because how much more embarrassing could this get.

Gil is laughing. ‘Are you seriously scared of Agatha?’

‘Of course not.’ It’s not _fear._ Not for himself. ‘Don’t _you_ ever worry about provoking the Heterodyne in her stronghold?’

Gil shrugs. ‘You know she loves us.’ He tries to say it casually and still winds up sounding ridiculously pleased.

‘That _doesn’t always stop people._ ’ Anevka killed his mother and his father killed Anevka and Anevka killed his father and she would have killed him and he killed her. Euphrosynia betrayed Andronicus and who knows what Lucrezia had ever felt for Bill. ‘Not very often at all, really.’

Gil blinks at him. ‘Your family’s really screwed up, you know.’

‘Yes, thank you, _I had noticed._ ’

‘It’s a bit less common elsewhere.’

Tarvek doesn’t argue, even though — among Sparks, among Mongfish, among Heterodynes — he’s really not sure it is.

*

‘Do you want to live somewhere other than Castle Heterodyne for a bit?’ Agatha asks the next evening. They’re all curled up on a couch in the library with rare and valuable books. It’s the best argument for staying Tarvek could think of, but even so it’s not enough.

‘It would be nice to live somewhere less malicious and voyeuristic, at least some of the time,’ he says. It’s not really about the Castle’s personality, or even about the fact that it has one, and they all know it. ‘We don’t have to, though, I know you love Mechanicsburg.’

‘I’d want to come back to it,’ says Agatha. ‘But very few Heterodynes spent all their time here. We could try actually living in the Palace of a Thousand Windows since you had it renovated.’

‘Really?’ It’s not comparable to Castle Heterodyne, of course, but it’s a shift from Agatha’s territory, not to neutral ground, but directly to Tarvek’s.

‘Sure,’ says Gil. ‘But we should spend some time on Castle Wulfenbach as well.’

That figures. But Tarvek supposes it’s fair. ‘All right, I’ll come and live in your giant balloon.’

‘We can go by flying machine.’

That figures too, that Gil would help to solve one fear only to ambush him with another. But this one is easier to admit to and more fun to avoid. ‘Just you try it, Wulfenbach,’ he growls.

Gil’s grin says he will, but Tarvek has plenty of evasive manoeuvres from the Yellow Codex memorised.

 


	18. Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a Princess who wanted a son. She was of a long bloodline that should have ruled the country, but because there were only girls her family had been unable to take power for a long time. Her young daughter did not content her and, as she watched her play with dolls in the garden, she said aloud, ‘If only I could have a son I should not care if my daughter did not live to wed.’

‘Well,’ said a voice. ‘I can take that bargain.’ And there was a witch, leaning over the fence. She was young, the witch, with hair like honey, and she held a hot coal on the palm of one hand without being burned. ‘Swallow this and you shall have the son you desire.’

The Princess took the coal. It burned her fingers, but she was of a wilfull line and ruthless even with herself. It burned her tongue worse and her belly worst of all. She crumpled to the ground, feeling it burn inside her, unable to think of anything but the pain, scarcely able to breath. The witch watched and smiled and so, holding her doll against her chest, did the Princess’ daughter.

(Nine months later her son was born, and so were children born to her sisters, all with hair red as fire and hearts burning with ambition.)

*

Once upon a time there was a Baron who was the favoured companion of two Princes. He travelled with them and they slew dragons when they must, or otherwise talked them into not eating princesses, and made peace between men and trolls. Sometimes, too, they dealt with witches, but witches are less easily reformed than dragons. However, they are much more enticing.

The witch sat on the edge of the bed, hair like honey streaming over the Baron’s naked form as he lay on the wolfskins piled there, and told him she would marry the elder Prince. He argued, declared it a trick, stridently claimed he wouldn’t allow it. She raised her hand and the wolfskin beneath him rose up around him, entangled him, stuck to his skin. He bellowed in pain and fear, trying to claw it off and only leaving deep welts in his arms as his fingernails sharpened.

When it was done he fell to the floor, panting and growling. He tried to force himself towards the witch and could not approach her, though he dug his paws in and pushed as if he walked against a gale.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘Go into the forest. Live as a wolf.’

He tried to resist, tried to stay, thinking even as a wolf he could warn the Princes, but he could not. He howled as he ran, like a warning bell, but no one heard.

(In the woods he killed bandits and protected travellers, although all most villages heard reported was that there was a man killer out there. With time he grew used to life as a wolf and when a beautiful she-wolf showed interest in him he did not resist. They had a litter of two and he loved them as fiercely as any wolf father loves his cubs.)

*

Once upon a time there was a witch with hair like honey who had married a powerful Prince, but she was not content. The Prince’s subjects loved him, and he loved her, but she wished for more than that.

Sunlight fell on an early primrose, still in bud, as it pushed through the snow. ‘I should like a daughter like that,’ said the witch. ‘As white and as gold, with eyes as green.’

So she gathered up the primrose, the snow and the sunlight in a white cloth and made herself a daughter.

(The daughter grew beautiful and beloved, loved by her father’s subjects as he was and as her mother was not, and the witch was jealous.)


	19. Classic Horror

‘Oh,’ said the woman, looking past Agatha at Tarvek. ‘You found one of Andronicus’ little bastards.’

Tarvek stopped looking shocked and alarmed and drew himself up. ‘Tarvek Sturmvoraus, the true heir to the Storm King,’ he said. ‘And you are?’

The woman looked at him consideringly. She had dark eyes, nearly black, like ink. Then she shrugged and turned back to Agatha. ‘I suppose he’s lovelorn over you?’

‘Um,’ said Agatha. She could see the tip of a fang touching one lip and what she’d taken for a loose white dress was looking more like a shroud by the moment. ‘Er.’

‘Of course he is,’ the woman continued. ‘That family have been mooning around dreaming of another Heterodyne girl to fall in love with for the last two hundred years. They wouldn’t waste any time once they found one.’ She turned back to Tarvek, movements suddenly languid. She was very beautiful, with sharp, delicate features and long, long raven black hair. ‘So,’ she said, leaning towards him. ‘What do you think of the original? Do I live up to your fantasies of a face lovely enough to beguile your hero?’

Tarvek took a step back. ‘You look very nice,’ he said. ‘But I prefer Agatha.’

Euphrosynia laughed, a mad, joyous cackle. ‘Well said.’

‘Agatha!’ Gil’s voice echoed down the vaults, and Euphsosynia’s head went up interestedly. ‘Martellus and Seffie are here, you’re going to be-’ He came around the corner and stopped. ‘…late.’

Euphrosynia looked at him appraisingly. ‘Another consort?’ she asked.

‘We’re working on it,’ said Agatha, and then blushed. ‘There are negotiations, everything’s very unsettled, and marrying anyone would… well, you know.’ Too well. ‘Not that I’m employing your solution!’

‘There are negotiations with my cousins,’ said Tarvek. ‘Which we are late for. If you are, er, staying up we’d be glad to talk to you later.’

‘I shall sit in,’ said Euphrosynia, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder. ‘It sounds far more interesting than wandering around down here.’

Gil coughed. ‘Perhaps you’d like to find a dress?’

*

Euphrosynia in a black velvet dress decorated with little pearl skulls (borrowed from Mamma Gkika who had hugged her and said, ‘glad to haff you about for a bit, dollink’) was not less unsettling than Euphrosynia in a shroud. She was too pale, too dark, and Agatha wondered whether this ink-and-paper edge to her beauty came with vampirism or whether she’d always looked like this.

She introduced herself as, ‘The Black Heterodyne, Lady Euphrosynia,’ and Martellus’ eyes went wide and shining. Xerxesephnia’s narrowed, she clearly didn’t believe a word of it and was trying to work out what Agatha was trying to pull.

‘Another of Andronicus’ brats,’ said Euphrosynia, leaning over the table towards Martellus. Tarvek twitched and Gil, on the other side of him, put a hand on his knee.

‘Lady Euphrosynia,’ said Martellus, bowing his head. Agatha rolled her eyes, Martellus in his Noble Prince persona was even more annoying than him acting like a brute.

Euphrosynia’s nostrils quivered and some tension ran through her, arching her like a dancer. Or a hunting cat. ‘Such a family resemblance they all have to dear Andronicus,’ she said, fang sliding over her lip. ‘Is this one yours too?’

‘ _Agatha_ ,’ Tarvek hissed.

‘Oh, no. Definitely not,’ said Agatha firmly.

‘Then you wouldn’t mind if I had him?’

Martellus expression was a mixture of unnerved, intrigued, and calculating, beneath a glaze of starry-eyed wonder. Euphrosynia’s expression hollowed her cheeks and lit her eyes.

Agatha opened her mouth and Tarvek grabbed her hand. ‘AgathaIthinkshewantstoeathim,’ he muttered frantically.

‘I don’t see why I’d have a problem with that,’ Agatha replied to both of them.

Euphrosynia’s smile spread wider, and she met Agatha’s eyes as if they were sharing a joke.

 


	20. Bad Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Animal death.

The most likely place to find Gil, lately, was the indoor gardens. He claimed to find gardening relaxing but then, Tarvek reflected looking at a “Warning — Large Flowers” sign, Gil always had had interesting ideas about relaxing. He passed by “Here Be Snapdragons” and “Sunflowers — Do Not Look Directly Into” before reaching “Vampire Roses”. These were lounging at the end of their stems, plump and red, which meant Gil had fed them recently. Tarvek kept carefully out of range of the thorns while checking for him and continued on to where a “Herb Garden — Wear Boots” sign indicated that Gil hadn’t yet got the ankle-biting mint confined to its own bed.

The herb garden was still overgrown and messy, with no neat labels aside from the one at its entrance. Out of the corner of his eye Tarvek caught sight of a foraging borage hastily rooting itself in the parsley bed. The meditating sage made a soft ‘ommmmmmmmm’ noise that was oddly soothing, although Tarvek found he didn’t trust Heterodyne plants that seemed to be trying to soothe him and hurried on. The rosemary was tall and shrubby with flowers such a deep blue they were almost black, and was fighting for space in its bed against a large clump of ankle-biting mint. There was a shovel and a large pair of secateurs nearby, so this was where Gil was working. Tarvek stomped on a particularly tall mint plant as it tried to get over the top of his boots and then settled in to wait. A slight prickle as a sprig of rosemary brushed his neck was annoying, but at least it didn’t bite.

Tarvek rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been looking for someone, why was he standing around? Oh, yes, he’d been looking for Anevka to ask if Andy was in her lab. It was nice to have a pet that enjoyed being in the lab with him, but the trouble was that mimmoths, giant or otherwise, liked being in labs at all other times too. And he’d been loitering here because he didn’t really want to disturb Anevka to ask her anything. He rubbed the back of his neck again, this time anxiety rather than a reaction to whatever had caught him there. She looked at him these days as if she could see how his bones fit together and was considering how to prise them apart.

‘It’s just breakthrough,’ he said to himself, out loud. ‘She’ll settle down once it’s over.’

He could smell blood behind the closed lab door. Not that unusual, but it made prickles run down his spine and he had to force himself to knock. Clank work, he thought, was so much cleaner.

‘Who’s there?’ Anevka said, sounding annoyed. She hadn’t said to come in, but if he just said who he was she might tell him to go away or forget he was there, so Tarvek pushed the door open.

‘I was just wondering if you’d seen Andy, he hasn’t been back to eat… all… day…’ Tarvek’s voice faltered as he saw what was in front of her, the hairy brown body, the limp trunk. The organs in jars. The blood. ‘What are you doing?’ The words ended with a gasp, he didn’t seem to have enough air to reach the end of the sentence.

‘Seeing how he worked,’ said Anevka, as if this made perfect sense of the way he was pinned open in front of her. He might not have been dead when she started. Tarvek tried not to think of that. He was certainly dead now. ‘Don’t worry,’ she continued. ‘I’ll make you a better one when I’m done.’

‘I want Andy!’ There were tears, hot and pressing, behind Tarvek’s eyes, but he knew with sudden certainty that he couldn’t cry in front of Anevka. He’d cried on her shoulder over nightmares, fears, missing Castle Wulfenbach, quarrels with Violetta. But he’d never cry in front of her again. ‘He-he was _mine!_ You had no right. _’_

‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. He was only an animal,’ said Anevka, impatiently. She wanted to get back to work, Tarvek could see. Finish taking Andy apart.

He walked up to the work bench and picked up the corpse, feeling cold, sticky blood soak through his shirt. He held Andy against him anyway, trying to imagine the rough, tacky fur soft and warm again. The limp trunk poking exploratively into his ear.

‘Oh, put it back, Tarvek. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, but I haven’t finished with it.’

‘If you’d asked me first I would have said “no”,’ said Tarvek forlornly. ‘And you wouldn’t have listened.’

She stood up and he took a step back, eyeing her warily. She seemed a lot bigger suddenly, her eyes glinting strangely, and he wasn’t sure whether he was afraid that she’d take Andy back or that she’d pin him out to open up in turn.

He fled. There was no thought behind it, just blind panic. The corridors were too exposed, it wasn’t just that she would find him there it was that anyone could and they’d all take Andy away from him. He finally stumbled across a servants door and dived through it into the rougher, narrower corridor behind. Still not safe, the servants could come, but he couldn’t go any further. He slid down to curl into a ball around Andy’s corpse, shaking and sobbing.

‘Tarvek?’ The voice was cautious, anxious and _familiar._

‘You’re not here,’ Tarvek choked, curling tighter because he didn’t want to see how alone he really was. ‘You’re on Castle Wulfenbach.’

‘I’m here.’ He felt Gil crouch beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Imagined the other boy looking at him sympathetically from under a mop of hair and knew it couldn’t be real.

‘It’s not fair.’ He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing blood in with the tears. ‘It’s not. You were the only person who l-liked me and then you _stopped_ and now Andy’s gone and Anevka’s - Anevka’s -’ Too bright eyes and impatience thrumming through her voice with something else and it was breakthrough, only breakthrough, but she hadn’t thought about him at all. ‘And there’s no one left who cares about me!’

‘I’m here, I love you, I promise, I won’t leave.’ Gil sounded distressed too, patting at his shoulder tentatively, and then pulling him into a hug.

‘You’re not, you can’t, you can’t be here and you won’t stay.’ Tarvek could hear his own voice rising, getting louder, and cut himself off with a gasp, realising how close he was to giving himself away. There was a pressure in his chest as if something in there was winding tighter and tighter, he wanted to scream and he didn’t dare. He burrowed into Gil, even if he was a hallucination he was a warm one.

‘I’m really here,’ said Gil. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry I sent you back to this, I’m here now.’ His arms tightened fiercely, crushing Tarvek against him, and maybe he was real because surely an imaginary Gil couldn’t squeeze tight enough to hurt? ‘You’re safe.’ There was enough conviction in his voice that Tarvek relaxed slightly, tremors growing stronger as he did. ‘No one will hear.’

Tarvek took a breath. He didn’t know if it was true, he couldn’t trust Gil again. Could he? But it felt like something inside him was about to shatter and he desperately needed it to be true. His breath came out as a shriek of pain, loss, grief, anger at the sheer _unfairness_ of a world that always did this to him. He froze afterwards, startled by the noise he’d made, sure someone would find him now, but nothing happened. There was just Gil, holding onto him as if they’d never parted.

‘Sweetheart?’ This voice was familiar too, but he didn’t know why because it was no one he knew, and when a second pair of arms wrapped around him he didn’t know whether to hug back or flinch away. He opened his eyes and… Gil was blurry, like a washed out photograph against the wooden passage, and the other person was invisible even as he could feel them holding him.

‘The rosemary got him,’ said Gil, inexplicably.

Andy’s corpse was blurring, too, and he clutched tighter at it, trying to hold onto all that was left of his friend. Everything was wavering.

He was back in the herb garden, Gil and Agatha both holding him. He hadn’t been a child for a long time. His sister had never really recovered from breakthrough and eventually he’d been the one to… his mind shied away from it. No more terrible memories, not now. Above him the rosemary bloomed innocently.

‘Your stupid herbs,’ he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face and surprised to find no blood there.

‘Welcome back,’ said Gil. His expression was the same anxious one Tarvek had imagined, although on a much older face.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Agatha.

‘I’ll live,’ he said. He stood up, backing warily away from the rosemary as he did so.

‘I’ll put up more signs,’ said Gil, standing too and wrapping an arm around Tarvek from one side as Agatha did the same on the other. ‘Although it’s probably best if everyone stays out of the herb garden until I’ve got things back in their own beds. The rue is even worse.’

Tarvek decided he didn’t want to know.

 


	21. Cannibalism

The first Agatha knew of Gil’s arrival was the creak of the ship’s rail as he swung himself over it, having hauled himself hand over hand up the ladder. She turned to see him perched atop it, hands gripping it firmly and body canted to one side so his long, grey-green-blue tail could wrap around it and anchor him in place. Water ran down over his bronze skin and collected on the blue tinted frills of his ears and the tender gill-slits between his ribs. He shifted a bit, muscles bunching across his shoulders and back, to get more tail under him until he could approximate sitting. Agatha carefully put down her sketch pad and went to kiss him. He was as salt-cool as the sea water itself, and her tongue found teeth sharp and uniform as a shark’s. She wrapped her arms around him carefully to avoid the gills.

‘Mm,’ he said, when she stopped for breath, still leaning on her a little. ‘I’ll miss you when you turn back.’

‘I’m not turning back yet,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen the sirens.’

His ear fins flared and flushed a deeper blue, and Agatha found herself memorising the colours to draw later. Threat display? Used for less serious and more protective anger, though. ‘I thought you’d given up on that,’ he said.

‘Of course not! I’ve sketched and described everything else around here,’ she waved to her sketchbook, ‘I’m not going to miss the most famous ones!’

‘They eat people,’ said Gil, scowling.

‘People say that about merfolk,’ said Agatha.

‘Well, _I’m_ saying it about them. Lots of people are drawn to their island by the singing, and none of them come back.’ Gil shifted until he could take the weight off one hand and run it through his hair.

‘What if I took meat?’ said Agatha.

‘What?’ He blinked at her, eyelids flicking in from the sides.

‘Maybe they’re hungry,’ said Agatha reasonably. ‘They can’t swim, can they?’

‘They can fish,’ said Gil, grimly. ‘I’m not taking you there.’

‘I can pay another guide. But then you won’t be there to help if I run into trouble.’ Agatha put a hand on his shoulder and he snorted, but his frills folded back.

‘My father always said humans were sneaky.’ He bent forward to kiss her again, and Agatha leaned into it eagerly. How did he make her feel so hot when he was so cold? ‘Fine, I’ll come.’

The end of his tail was flicking back and forth against the deck, and Agatha guessed he was excited as much as worried now he’d done his best to dissuade her and she’d insisted. He’d helped her get a close look at a sea serpent, after all. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Thank me if you survive it,’ he said, and launched away from her, arching over the rail and entering the water with barely a splash. He poked his head up a moment later to grin and wave goodbye, and Agatha watched him return to his own environment with the same wistful longing she always felt.

*

‘In a rowboat,’ said Gil, dubiously. He had his arms folded on the side of it, tail idly flicking behind him and sending up little plumes of white foam.

‘I don’t want to risk the crew,’ said Agatha. ‘And you can tow it, can’t you?’

Gil swam forward and picked up the long loop of rope attached to the front. ‘I suppose if you’re going to jump overboard it doesn’t much matter what you do it from.’

‘I’m not going to jump overboard,’ said Agatha, firmly, picking up another coil of rope and winding it through the iron loops she’d had put in. ‘Come here and tie me up.’

‘Wow,’ said Gil, giving her a rather dazed grin.

She forced herself to look stern. ‘It’s for the advancement of the natural sciences.’ He swam over and helped her get the knots done where she couldn’t reach them, fumbling a little. She grinned. ‘We can do it for fun another time.’

‘Wow,’ he repeated, surging up half onto the boat to kiss her.

She kissed back, but forced herself to keep it brief, they were wasting time. ‘What about you? Are you immune to the siren song?’

‘Now you ask,’ said Gil, drolly. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Oh, then I can’t ask —’ she said anxiously, trying to think how she’d go about this. Maybe she could get a crewman to plug their ears and row her?

He grinned. ‘I can be. But we won’t be able to talk so easily.’ His ear frills twitched and then seemed to shift back a little on his head, fanning out wider than she’d ever seen them, putting out delicate filaments from behind the skin flaps. Gil continued, talking louder and flatter, ‘this is for hearing underwater. It doesn’t work well above water, I won’t hear the song well enough to be lured.’

‘Oh, good,’ Agatha said, slowly, hoping he could hear her. She waved up to her crew to cast them off and Gil swam forward to hook the loop of rope around his chest.

It was a still clear day, and the sun was climbing towards noon, making the water dazzle silver and turning the small rocky islands into jet. The accounts — what fragmentary ones there were — said this was the best time for siren song. The rowboat cut along easily, Gil’s head poking through the water ahead of it and his body just visible as an undulating shadow. He was so beautiful, so powerful, in his native element. Agatha had been swimming with him, on the sandy coast of an island, but she was as limited there as he was on land. It could never work, but she’d miss him so much when she left. The empty silver sea seemed to reflect a loneliness she was already anticipating and there was a sweet, terrible ache in her heart.

Music. By the time she noticed it she had been hearing it for some time, sunk into a melancholy reverie. It was the loneliest, most beautiful sound she had ever heard and it wrenched at her heart. Gil turned his head to look back at her, the motion of the boat changing to a becalmed tilting with the waves. He looked strangely misty — oh, she was crying. She swallowed and waved him on. ‘Go.’

He nodded and took up the slack again.

The next island they rounded showed an unexpected break in its rocks on the far side, revealing its jagged edges to be cupping a meadow which, sheltered from wind and sun, was blooming with flowers like tiny jewels. It was so beautiful and unexpected that it took Agatha’s breath away and only on a second look did she see that what she had taken for a beach of white pebbles was bone. Standing on the beach, on the bones, was a man.

The man was pale, which was perhaps why he kept to the shadows, with red hair that caught the light even so. His pose, head tipped back, chest puffed out and mouth open, marked him as the singer, but it was less the pose of a human singer than of a songbird. There was a white cloth wrapped around his hips, not falling far enough to hide the way his legs cut off abruptly at mid thigh. Or, no, they didn’t cut off. It only looked like the result of amputation if Agatha expected human legs, rather his knees were high and then a strong, but thin, orange pink leg bent back from it, bending forward again to bury broad claws in the beach.

The notes trilled, sublime and heartbreaking, and Agatha wanted more than she had ever wanted anything to go to him, to ease the pain spilling so beautifully into the air.

Wrenching against the ropes only left her with burns on her arms and legs. She turned to Gil to plead and found that he was no longer holding the loop of rope, but had his arms folded on the side of the boat, skulling his tail lazily underneath it to keep them still. She wasn’t sure he even heard her pleas that she had to go to the siren, she had to help him.

‘He’s a monster trying to lure you to your death,’ Gil said, loudly, ringing harsh over the lilting notes. ‘And I’m not letting you any closer.’

The music stopped. It was so abrupt it felt as if the sun had suddenly been eclipsed, and then Agatha found herself looking at the pale figure in a different light. He had been trying to lure her in to eat her, whether or not the sadness in his song had been real she couldn’t trust him.

‘Didn’t you come to seek me?’ he called, voice projecting effortlessly across the water.

‘Yes!’ Agatha shouted. ‘But not to be eaten by you.’

‘I don’t eat people,’ he called. ‘I’d consider you a guest.’

Agatha looked at the bones beneath his feet. The feet themselves caught her attention, she had expected the sharp talons of a bird of prey, but they were sparrow’s feet. The bones they clutched at, though, bore the marks of teeth. ‘Someone does.’

He cocked his head at her and then came down the beach towards her, stepping lightly and surely over the bones. In the sun his hair blazed redder than she had thought, and fine, almost transparent, feathers caught the light on the upper part of his leg. She wished she could draw him, now, before she forgot the details. ‘We can talk from here, if you like,’ he called.

‘Is that what you want, to talk?’ Agatha asked.

‘Yes. It’s lonely here.’ Although he didn’t sing, the tone of the last words caught at Agatha’s throat.

‘Can I study you while we talk?’ she asked.

He blinked. ‘Study me?’

‘It’s what I came for,’ Agatha explained, enthusiastically. ‘If you wouldn’t start singing again I’d have brought a sketchpad, but I can remember quite a bit. If you’d just hold your foot out and maybe spread the talons?’

He looked rather bemused but did as she asked. ‘Is this what you’re doing? Studying monsters?’

‘Studying everything!’ said Agatha. ‘But, yes, monsters most of all. We know so little about them! Would you mind turning around?’ She was pretty sure he didn’t have wings, the accounts of whether or not sirens did varied greatly but he’d shown no sign of them.

He hesitated and then sighed and turned and… oh. He _did_ have wings, but they were plucked, like the wings of a cooked bird, and held tight up against his back. She felt the boat jolt as Gil started, as shocked as she was. ‘Oh no,’ Agatha said, softly, surprised when it carried across the calm water between them.

The siren turned to look at her over his shoulder. ‘I never liked flying much anyway,’ he said, hunching the naked remains of his wings still closer to his back. Agatha could easily trace the bones in them, but it felt as if she was seeing something too private for her curiosity.

‘Who did that to you?’ she asked.

‘Someone who didn’t want me to leave.’ He turned back around and shook himself. ‘Will you tell me about the other monsters you’ve seen?’

Agatha hesitated. She shouldn’t stay, she was meant to be studying him, but he sounded so wistful. And he couldn’t leave. ‘If you like.’

*

Tarvek — that was the siren’s name, he told her when she thought to ask — was surprisingly easy to talk to. She told him about the things she’d seen and, when the subject came up, some of the adventures she’d had with Gil getting close to them. At times she wished Gil would unplug his ears to join the conversation properly, but she knew he was wise to suspect Tarvek would sing again if he did.

Tarvek really was lonely, she thought, he was opening up as they spoke, expressions becoming more real, gestures broader. She thought about taking the boat in close and inviting him aboard and then wondered whether this friendliness was a second lure for if the singing failed. Still, she found herself reluctant to leave, and not just for the rare chance of observing a siren.

Birds appeared against the sun, surprisingly large even if they were close, perhaps albatrosses? Then they stooped down, two more sirens, an older male and a female about Tarvek’s age. Their wings were sparrow wings, as she might have expected Tarvek’s to be from the legs, blunt, delicate fans. Not at all the sort of wings that should belong to creatures swooping at her. Tarvek let out a shrill call that might have been distress or welcome or anything at all and Gil grabbed the rope and vanished under the water to pull with all his strength.

They landed, one on either side of her in the boat, even as Gil towed her away from the island. She didn’t think they could fly far, with those wings, probably only to neighbouring islands. What had been done to Tarvek — done by them? — had probably been at least partly symbolic. They regarded her with black on black bird eyes, seemingly not interested in speaking.

‘Hello,’ Agatha tried. ‘Are you Tarvek’s relatives.’

The male pulled her back and sank his teeth into the crook of her neck. They were more human teeth than Gil’s, she could feel the shape of them in her flesh. Sharp enough, though, to take a bite. He tipped his head back to swallow it.

Agatha screamed, belatedly, only able to take in what was happening once it was past. Blood was running down her neck, down her back, she felt dizzy. The ropes that had protected her earlier were now holding her in place and Gil, below the water, didn’t know he wasn’t taking her away from the danger. She screamed again, throwing herself against the ropes, shaking her head and shoulders although it hurt like having a knife driven through her, splattering her own blood as far as she could. Gil would smell it when it came through his gills, he’d told her about how senses worked underwater, he’d realise she was in trouble. The female grabbed her arm and looked carefully at it, as if finding the tenderest spot.

Gil lunged up onto the boat, trying to wrap his arms around the female from behind. She sensed him coming at the last minute and fluttered into the air like a bird narrowly escaping a pouncing cat. Gil bared his teeth, opening his mouth too wide for his jaw to be hinged in a remotely human way, ear fins flared and bright blue. The siren on Agatha’s other side shifted into a crouch. They were going to fight with her in between them, they were going to overturn the boat with her tied to it… and then Gil grabbed at the ropes, fumbling with knots tightened from her pulling, and then just biting through them with needle teeth scraping Agatha’s skin. The siren aimed a fist at Gil’s bowed head and Agatha kicked with her newly freed foot, catching him under the chin and making him reel back. Gil’s arms closed around her and he launched them both overboard.

The water hit the hole in her shoulder with pain she couldn’t even have imagined and it took all her willpower not to let her air out in a desperate howl.

*

Agatha woke wedged on a narrow ledge between two rocks, lying against the smoother one. She didn’t remember how she’d got here, only pain and cold hands holding her head above water. There was a tattered, half rotten sail cloth spread over several rocky points for reasons she was unsure of a little distance away. Her shirthad been taken off and folded up into a pad, which was wedged between the rock and her shoulder. Moving might dislodge it, so she didn’t.

Gil’s head popped out of the water in her line of sight and he swam up to where he could rest his hands on the rocks below the water line, looking at her with large, worried eyes. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Thirsty.’ Her throat hurt and her head pounded with it.

Gil winced.

‘You don’t have any fresh water,’ she said, dully.

‘I don’t have anything,’ he said. ‘I could go and get your crew.’

‘The singing,’ she said, too tired to say more.

‘I could get my sister,’ he said. ‘But she’s a way away and it would mean leaving you here with the sirens close, I don’t think you’d want me to swim with you again.’

He wasn’t sure she could survive another trip through the water and neither was she. ‘The sirens,’ she said. ‘Must have water.’

‘On land, yes,’ said Gil.

A cold breeze had come in with the evening, making little whitecaps dance on the waves. Agatha shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ Gil asked. When she nodded he lifted the sail cloth off its rocks, awkwardly swimming with as much of him out of the water as possible, balancing on his tail, and brought it over to tuck around her. It was falling away to slime at the edges, but it was barely damp and it warmed her.

‘Where did you get it?’ she asked.

‘There are lots of wrecks under the water,’ said Gil. ‘Ships left to drift onto the rocks. There’s not much left, though.’

Agatha sighed and closed her eyes. ‘Going to sleep,’ she said. ‘Sparrows don’t fly at night.’

‘I’ll try to keep watch all the same,’ said Gil. He slipped up out of the water to kiss her cheek. ‘And I’ll try to find fresh water.’

Agatha nodded, weakly.

*

The next morning Agatha woke feeling even worse, so thirsty it felt as if all her flesh was contracting as the moisture was sucked out of it. But her shoulder had stopped bleeding, even when she removed the wadded shirt. For the first time it occured to her that Gil had seen her naked breasts and she found she had enough blood left to blush, before telling herself that Gil lived in a society where no one wore clothes. Still, she bent painfully to the sea water to wash the blood out of her shirt as best she could and put it on the rock above her to dry.

Gil’s head broke the surface as naturally as a seal’s, and she crossed her arms over her chest feeling foolish. ‘Did you find anything?’ she asked, tongue feeling sticky in her mouth.

‘The sirens pulled tbe boat ashore on their island,’ he answered, frustrated. ‘A long way ashore. If we could get to it I could pull you back to the ship.’

‘Are the sirens there?’ she asked.

‘Just Tarvek. I think the other two go out hunting or fishing and leave him to lure any sailors that come by for when they get back,’ said Gil, sounding disgusted with the whole lot of them.

‘Tarvek said he didn’t eat people,’ she said.

‘And you believe him?’ Gil lashed his tail so hard it broke the surface.

‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha wearily. ‘But if I stay here another night I’m going to die. If you get me to the siren’s island then… then maybe I can get the boat. Maybe Tarvek won’t hurt me on his own, or maybe I can run to the beach so you can grab him. I don’t think we have a choice.’

‘You’re right. Wait here and if anything happens stir your hand around in the water as fast as you can.’ With that Gil was gone, disappearing as suddenly as he’d come.

He returned with a jagged plank just big enough for Agatha to lie on, interrupting her stewing about how inconsiderate he’d been not to tell her where he was going or how long he’d be. She found herself smiling, relieved at not having to take another trip through the water. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘I had to break it off a wreck,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t easy and now my mouth is full of splinters.’

Manoeuvring herself to lie on it probably wasn’t as hard as that, but it certainly felt hard enough, and she felt very vulnerable lying on it in her still damp shirt which was rapidly getting damper. Still better than actually being in the sea. Gil held the plank broadside on, arms underneath it to hold the far side, the only position he wasn’t afraid of tipping it in. The air was hot, making Agatha moan. It was tempting to try and suck seawater from her shirt. The waves Gil was propelling her across were curiously lulling, though, and there was music in the air. Such sad music. But it was all right, they were going towards it, Gil was speeding up already, she didn’t need to do anything but wait.

Gil pushed her onto the beach of bones and she stood up, ignoring how sick doing that made her feel. She had to find Tarvek, he was hurting, she had to…

‘What are you doing here?’ Tarvek was standing in the shadows again.

‘What do you mean what are we doing here? You lured us!’ Gil shouted, dragging himself up onto the beach as if that would help.

‘I didn’t… I thought you were dead!’

‘I’m sure you’re disappointed,’ Gil snarled.

Agatha held her hands up, although maybe she shouldn’t discourage this fight. If Tarvek actually attacked Gil then Gil could just pull him into the ocean and drown him. That would be good. Wouldn’t it? She swayed and forced herself to stay standing.

‘Are you all right?’ Tarvek asked. The sound Gil made in response to that wasn’t human or aquatic, but pure frustration.

‘I’m just thirsty,’ said Agatha.

‘I’ll get you something to drink,’ said Tarvek. ‘You are my guest.’

He picked his way up towards the meadow, Gil yelling after him, ‘She’s not your guest, you idiot, she’s your family’s dinner! How long areyou going to pretend?’

Tarvek brought the water back in a — well, Agatha was pretty sure it was the top half of a skull. She drank it anyway. It was cool and fresh and she felt as if she was coming back to life, suddenly her brain was working again and it wasn’t taking all her concentration to stand. ‘Thank you,’ she said, handing the skull back to him. ‘Now, I’m going to get my boat.’ She walked into the meadow, muscles tensing along her back and pulling at her injured shoulder. Tarvek was now between her and Gil, if she’d misjudged this…

‘You won’t stay and talk again?’ Tarvek asked wistfully. ‘You could study me up close, I wouldn’t mind.’

Agatha felt her shoulders relax. He wasn’t going to attack, not physically. ‘You really are doing it on purpose then,’ she said. ‘Keeping people talking until your family gets back if your song doesn’t work.’ She grabbed rope at the front of the boat and realised she was going to have to pull it back to the water with her shoulder feeling like it was on fire.

‘I always talk to people,’ Tarvek said, quietly. ‘If the song works then I talk to them once they’re on the beach.’

Agatha dropped the rope and turned to stare at him. ‘Do you lure people in for your family to eat?’ she said. ‘Or do you lure people in because you’re lonely even though you know your family will eat them?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Does it matter if they get eaten either way?’ Gil called. ‘Can you manage the boat?’

Agatha picked up the rope again, gritted her teeth and started pulling. When Tarvek’s hands joined hers on it she flinched and turned to fight him, even knowing she’d lose. He met her eyes with his black ones. ‘I’ll help,’ he said.

She thought of that beautiful, empty song and the despairing selfishness behind it, and nodded.

The two of them reached the beach to find Gil flitting back and forth impatiently in the shallow water. He grabbed the rope as soon as it was close enough. ‘Get in,’ he said.

Agatha looked at Tarvek. She wanted to apologise for leaving. She wanted to yell at him for nearly killing her.

The older male siren swooped at them, seemingly out of nowhere, but Agatha had forgotten to look up as she watched her feet on the bones. She threw herself into the boat and, as he dived after her, Gil rose up from the water and his teeth closed in the siren’s chest. A moment later they had both vanished, a trail of blood running into the deeper water all that remained.

‘Father!’ Tarvek’s shock and distress sounded entirely real, but Agatha wasn’t sure she had it in her to feel sorry for him right now.

‘Get in the boat,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Just do it. Do you want to stay here forever? Especially if the other siren realises you were helping us escape when that happened.’

He could turn on her, attack her, realise that he could probably placate the female by betraying Agatha now. She tried to look as if she couldn’t even imagine him attacking her. He got into the boat and Agatha tried not to shake with relief. Gil surfaced and almost immediately flared his ear fins at Tarvek.

‘He’s coming with us, he didn’t attack, there’s no time to argue, just pull,’ said Agatha all in one breath.

Gil threw her an incredulous look but did as she said, disappearing underwater as the boat shot forward like an arrow.

Then the singing started. It echoed around the islands, a plea for her to go back, a promise of wonders if she did. She turned to slip overboard, to go towards it, and Tarvek grabbed her. ‘Don’t,’ he said.

She struggled against him hard enough to rock the boat, strong with desperation. When he let go she felt a moment of pure triumph and relief and then he started to sing too. Longing and lonliness and… and hope. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something she had put there. Trilling like a skylark, he raised his head and outsang his sister, pouring his soul into a song. They’d used him to lure people because he was better at it than them, because he’d meant it, and now he was luring someone towards life instead of death.

Agatha found herself resting against him, stroking one of those pitiful wings and imagining new feathers growing with no one to pluck them away. One song faded as they left the islands behind, and the other stopped, hanging on an unfinished note. Agatha looked at the sky, but the female siren hadn’t followed them past the point where she could comfortably fly, and hadn’t attacked them directly.

The boat slowed and Gil’s head popped up, his swimming less smooth.

‘Are you tired?’ Agatha asked.

‘I can pull you the rest of the way, just not at that speed,’ said Gil. He looked back over his shoulder. ‘What are you going to do with him? If you take him back he’ll wind up in a king’s menagerie.’

Beside her Tarvek flinched and Agatha patted his shoulder. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Maybe I won’t go back. There’s so much to see out here, I’m sure I could convince the Academy that my studies have borne enough fruit for another voyage.’ She wanted to see Tarvek with feathers grown in, see what he was like when he wasn’t lonely and trapped, whether conscience could grow back too. She wanted to kiss Gil again, more thoroughly, lie in shallow water with him and find out if they could do more than kiss. She wanted to kiss Tarvek, find out whether she wanted to do more. She wanted to meet Gil’s sister. ‘And if they won’t fund it, maybe I could build a house on an island somewhere. You could bring me bits of wrecked ship to build it with.’

Gil flipped over in the loop, swimming backwards with his eyes on her. ‘I can’t believe you’re staying for _him_.’

‘I’m not,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m staying for both of you. And I would have stayed anyway.’

Gil smiled and flipped back onto his front. ‘That’s all right then.’

Ahead of them the silhouette of the ship was already looming.

 


	22. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether I need to warn for torture when that's the prompt, but definitely torture.

Gil’s used to pain. He just has to keep breathing.

His father had thought that he should experience everything life might throw at him under controlled conditions so he wouldn’t be taken by surprise in uncontrolled ones. He hadn’t tortured Gil, of course not, but training had left bruises and even cuts… you find out what your body can do by finding its limits, the stronger you are the more it takes to push you to that… and then you push through the pain until you find new limits. His father with a stick and Gil’s eyes firmly on it, ready to dodge, loving this, loving so much the times he could be everything he was and become more, the times only his father got to see…

‘Hey.’ The cane lands… not really a cane. Thin, metal, it was almost wire, cut as it hit. ‘Pay attention. Is the Lady Heterodyne with you?’

‘She’s busy redecorating the moon.’ The response has lost all humour… he’s repeating it because he needs words to hold onto… he’d been so annoyed with her and Tarvek for that one, silly, irresponsible Sparking, they know better…

The cane lands across his hand… across mangled broken fingers… his vision goes red… distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx… he can fix them. Well, no, he can’t, he doesn’t have hands left to fix his hands with. Suppresses the bark of laughter before it becomes hysterical. Agatha can. Will. She’ll come. Tarvek too although he doesn’t like adventures, he’s pessimistic enough to guess this one went wrong.

Damage. That’s the thing. Once the body is damaged past a certain point it can’t be fixed. He doesn’t think he’s reached that point yet, not with Agatha and Tarvek doing the fixing, not with his body. It hurts though.

A knife is pulled out, waved in front of his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to focus, it’s a flash of silver against shadows. It’s placed against the index finger interphalangeal joint. Probably going to need a prosthetic then, his fingers are too mangled for reattachment to be in time. Probably they won’t be in time for that anyway.

‘She’s busy redecorating the moon.’

It’s not so different from the pain of the cane, or the hammer. Keep breathing.


	23. It’s The End of The World as We Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character death.

Gil slips back through the brambles into the hollow they’ve been denning in. It looks like he wasn’t careful enough about making his way through — there are scratches on the back of his hand and new blood stands out red on his cuffs against the older brown blotches.

‘Wasp station,’ he says. ‘Just a feeder one, it’s all tremes.’

Tremes. Unfortunate statistical extremes. Tarvek’s not sure whether Gil’s still angry with him or whether the word’s just stuck by now. He uses it himself when he needs to yell information during a fight. All tremes is good though — they can’t communicate so they can’t send for back up from the cities.

‘We’re low on power,’ says Agatha, handing out the deathrays she’s been working on. ‘I’ve increased the efficiency again, but there’s only so many times that will help. Stay in energy saver mode unless you’re really in trouble.’

They head through the woods, parallel to the roadway, listening intently. It’s quiet. Very quiet. Tarvek’s almost used to the fact that wildlife is a thing of the past, at least between cities. The mindless revenants have been driven out of the cities and mostly inhabit wasp stations along the roadway, or near city gates, where they live under the direct control of the wasps. Revenants don’t attack their own kind, so travel between towns is actually safer for most people now than it was before. As long as they don’t ride horses.

The wasp station is visible above the trees, a dome of welded metal half consumed by another, more organic, one. The wasps here have expanded beyond the original hive. Probably the Lucrezias ruling the local towns will reassign them soon. For now the important thing is to stay far enough away that the wasps won’t hear the battle if they’re seen by tremes. They can’t handle fighting the hive, not low on power.

They’re level with the wasp station when a treme sees them. It’s a young one, maybe twelve, with the pinched, feral look they all have. Not as skinny as some of the ones further out — the towns are feeding these ones. Tarvek blasts its head off before it can shriek and the three of them freeze, listening. The death ray barely sizzled, but sound carries in the near silent woods. Things start rustling, and it could be a wind blowing the tree tops at first, but it’s coming towards them.

Gil turns towards them, signalling “stand or run?” with his hands.

Agatha points to her death ray’s power gauge and signals “run”, then points forward. The tremes will try to eat them or herd them into the wasp station for infection. They won’t care about stopping them from going in a particular direction.

They start running as soon as it’s decided. If they can just get past the wasp station before they’re found, if they’re not at the closest possible point to it, then they’ll have a better chance. Whether they were trained as warriors or assassins they all know how to move quietly. The rustling is closing in.

Rounding a break of elms brings them face to face with the tremes. About a dozen of them and these ones shriek, so soon it will be more. Shoot them and keep going. Head shots, on energy saver mode, or it just burns them. As they crowd in the precision gets harder and they’re coming from other directions, too, Tarvek has to turn to shoot those coming up behind them.

Gil lowers his head and picks up speed. Tarvek can’t see from the back, but he knows Gil’s teeth will be showing in something that isn’t quite a grin, almost as feral as the tremes. His death ray has blades attached along both sides and when he can’t shoot he slices. Tarvek and Agatha fall in behind him, finishing off the injured, speeding up as he does. One of them gets close enough to bite Tarvek’s wrist, Agatha leans over and clubs it with the butt of her death ray. Gil’s shirt is spotted with blood again, but he’s hard to really damage. The wasp station is falling away behind them. When tremes stop coming from ahead of them they turn around and make a shooting retreat.

*

Another dip in the ground behind some bushes, another area far enough from wasp stations that mindless revenants are unlikely to stumble right over them. Gil is trying to bandage one hand with the other and curses when he loses the end. Agatha goes to help him over his protests.

‘These cuts haven’t healed properly, are they infected?’

‘It wouldn’t be surprising out here, would it?’ Gil asks.

But Agatha’s rolled his sleeve back further and the look on her face is stunned. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Tell us what?’ Tarvek moves to crouch next to them. The old cuts on Gil’s arm are red and puffy, red lines make it possible to trace the veins beneath the skin.

‘It’s the same thing the Jägers had,’ Agatha says. She’s still holding Gil’s wrist, only now she’s clutching it.

‘A strain that can infect humans,’ says Tarvek. He looks at Gil’s face. ‘You knew? You knew you were infected and you’ve just been travelling with us — with Agatha!’

Gil tugs his sleeve down and then closes his free hand over Agatha’s hand on his wrist. ‘It doesn’t infect humans. Gkika said once that my father had more of their secrets than she’d known. You don’t need to worry.’

Tarvek rocks back on his heels, realising what he’d sounded like. He has the right to be angry though. ‘Just about you? Why _didn’t_ you tell us?’

‘We’re not going to make it to Paris if you start trying to coddle me,’ says Gil. ‘You need me to fight and we can’t stop to play doctor, either.’

‘We could have tried to fix it,’ says Agatha. She pushes her hair back out of her eyes. ‘We can still try.’

‘It’s the same thing that got the Jägers,’ says Gil, meeting her eyes. ‘If you could have fixed it you would have fixed it for them.’

‘So you’re just planning to die on the way to Paris and doubtless fulfil all your dreams of heroic martyrdom?’ snaps Tarvek. It’s been just the three of them for what feels like a long time, now, and reaching Paris was starting to feel like an impossible dream. Anything but continuing exactly as they were had been starting to feel unlikely, but losing Gil suddenly feels entirely too possible.

‘Get wound, Sturmvoraus,’ says Gil. ‘I’m dying, I don’t need you to be snide about it.’

Agatha curls forward, rests her head on Gil’s shoulder. ‘We don’t want to reach Paris without you,’ she says. Gil looks helpless and embarrassed, unsure how to comfort her.

‘We won’t be able to reach Paris without you!’ Tarvek says. It’s not helpful, not at all, but he feels like screaming, and instead he’s hissing. Stay quiet. ‘You’re right, we need you to do the fighting. Neither of us is tough enough to do what you do, if you die then we’re done for anyway. You can’t just give up!’

‘I’m not giving up,’ Gil growls back. ‘I said, didn’t I? We can’t stop, we don’t have time. I’m going to getyou two to Paris if it’s the last thing I do. It probably will be.’

Agatha finally lets go of his wrist and shoves her hair back with one hand. ‘We’ll go as fast as we can,’ she says. ‘And when we get to Paris they’ll have medicines and hospitals still and we will fix you.’ Her voice is thrumming, drawn taut as a wire. None of them say that they’d still had hospitals back when the Jägers started dropping.

*

They bed down, that night, one on either side of Gil. Tarvek listens to Gil’s breathing in the silent woods, holding his own for every inhalation.

 


	24. Betrayal

It’s not really a betrayal if everyone should be able to see it coming.

Gil’s tired and takes too much for granted. Too busy rushing between disasters, pushing people along or trailing them in his wake, to stop and talk. To see where the tensions lie.

It’s doing him a favour, really, he’s not fit to rule.

Exile might seem harsh, but he wouldn’t accept Tarvek’s rule, it would fracture the Empire again.

‘It’s all right,’ says Agatha. ‘Mechanicsburg’s outside the Empire. You can stay with me.’

Between Agatha and Europa, Tarvek thinks he may have won the lesser prize.


	25. Victorian Gothic

Bianca raised her chin, put her shoulders back, and attempted to approach Castle Heterodyne with dignity and confidence. She had a strong suspicion that it had been designed to repel attempts to do anything of the kind and, in fact, it seemed to emanate malevolent amusement at the attempt. She clasped her hands in the silk folds of her dress and told herself that she was a Lady, the ruler of a town, nearly twenty, and her uncle almost certainly hadn’t sent her here in hopes of her winding up in a dungeon somewhere and leaving Weissenburg in his hands.

‘Never thought to see Castle Heterodyne up this close,’ her nurse said in a trembling voice. She was here as maid and chaperone, but currently not much comfort as she looked more scared than Bianca felt.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Bianca said briskly. ‘Mechanicsburg was a tourist destination for years.’

‘While there was no Heterodynes in it,’ said the nurse.

Bianca shook her head and walked briskly forwards. The guards on either side of the gates were Jägers, and she’d heard stories but she wasn’t quite prepared for the twisted features, nearly human but carrying echoes of animals, or for the beartrap teeth.

‘Come to see Mizz Agatha, dollink?’ one of them called, her rank evidently supplying no barrier to familiarity. She felt very small and exposed, without even that protection.

The door creaked open without anyone near it and Bianca wasn’t sure whether she wanted to run inside to escape the monsters or loiter to avoid entering the huge, dim hall beyond.

She was ushered by servants into a dark, gloomy reception room where, once again, the doors opened without being touched. The furniture was old and where it wasn’t carved with bones it appeared to be made of them. Nor was it Lady Heterodyne who was waiting for her. Instead it was… oh dear, Baron Wulfenbach. She’d heard so many stories about him; he could throw lightning around, outfight a Jäger, had stayed awake for three years and lost his mind as a result. Currently he was sitting in a heavily upholstered chair and sketching something. He stood up and bowed when she was announced.

‘Lady Bianca Weissen,’ he said, with a charming smile that was perhaps the slightest touch pointy. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m afraid the Lady Heterodyne has been delayed. Please forgive us.’

‘Of course,’ she said. He’d dropped the sketchbook on the arm of the chair when he stood up it was full of illustrations of… oh dear, bodies being held open by a number of tools that looked… quite overbuilt for the purpose.

He followed her gaze and flipped it shut, looking embarrassed. ‘Don’t tell Agatha I let you see that, it’s meant to be secret knowledge.’

‘Of… of course not,’ she said, faintly, and sat there quietly while the coffee was brought, unable to reply in more than murmurs to his questions about her trip.

After a little while, and some coffee, she collected her nerve. She was meant to be here to negotiate a trade contract with the Lady Heterodyne. She could hardly do that if she spent the whole time cringing. ‘This is very good coffee,’ she said, tentatively.

‘Agatha made the coffee machine,’ he said, proudly. ‘Her seneschal has nearly recovered from his first cup.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t worry, she toned it down, it’s just very good coffee. That was a long time ago.’

‘Oh.’

He put his cup down and stood up. ‘Why don’t we go and find Agatha?’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’m putting you at your ease.’

Bianca abandoned her own half full cup with relief. She didn’t think her nurse had even touched hers which might, on reflection, have been wise of her. There were more passages, more bones, and instructions like, ‘don’t touch anything white in this one,’ or, at one point and clearly not addressed to her, ‘I know you’ve changed all the traps in the next area, change them back or I’ll tell Agatha’. Eventually this brought them to a forbidding doorway. Baron Wulfenbach rapped on it.

‘Agatha, Lady Bianca Weissen is here.’

There was a frustrated mutter from inside and then the door was flung open to reveal a woman a few years older than Bianca herself, wearing bloodstained overalls and with her hair escaping from a braid. Behind her hung arms and legs, affixed to the ceiling by tubes and slowly dripping blood onto the floor, making a sound like a light rainstorm. Bianca shrieked.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Lady Heterodyne tugged off her bloody gloves and threw them onto a table, then stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her. ‘Gil, you should have said she was with you, she’s probably not used to labs.’

Bianca tried to get a grip on herself. ‘I’m not really used to — to corpses.’ She swallowed. ‘Or parts of them.’

‘Oh, they’re not from corpses,’ said Lady Heterodyne. Bianca swallowed again, feeling as if the dark, oppressive house was bearing down on her, and tried not to imagine dungeons full of people without limbs. ‘I’m really sorry I forgot you were coming today, I’ve been having problems with clotting, and then as soon as I got them to stop clotting before they’re attached they started bleeding all over the place.’ Her voice was enthusiastic and exasperated at once, and there was an undertone to it that made Bianca go very still. Then the Lady Heterodyne blinked and focussed on her, making her feel for a moment like a mouse in front of a hawk, but when Lady Heterodyne spoke again she sounded much more normal. ‘Would you mind going back to the reception room to wait while I change?’

‘That will be fine,’ Bianca said softly.

They returned to the reception room to find someone already there. The Storm King was sitting in the chair Baron Wulfenbach had been in earlier and looking at Baron Wulfenbach’s sketches.

‘Do you really think she’s going to need all these?’ he asked without looking up.

‘If she doesn’t want to risk them healing halfway through. I’ve no idea what her ancestors used,’ said Baron Wulfenbach.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Bianca, and curtseyed, because even if he ruled equally with the Baron and Lady Heterodyne he was still a king.

He smiled at her and bowed, unlike Baron Wulfenbach making sure to flip the cover of the sketchbook closed so she wouldn’t see it. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look a little pale. I know this place can be oppressive when you’re not used to it.’ He sounded both solicitous and rueful and Bianca found herself having an embarrassing urge to throw herself at him and cling, just because he seemed to understand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. ‘I am a little nervous.’

‘Perhaps some wine?’ He took her hand and settled her easily in a chair before calling for some. It did help. It also gave Bianca the time to recall that he, too, was a Spark and he, too, had stories about him. About girls he’d invited to his palace in his own town, who had not left it. He seemed so nice. But he’d looked at those sketches without blinking.

Lady Heterodyne joined them in a beautiful copper dress, hair piled on top of her head, just in time for dinner. She had an abstracted air and kept waving her fork around and humming. At one point she started, ‘Gil, about coagulants —’

The Storm King interrupted her with a meaningful look at Bianca to say, ‘ _Must_ we talk about biology at the dinner table?’

Which led to stilted, but unalarming, conversation for the rest of the meal and Bianca couldn’t help giving him a grateful smile for that. The Lady Heterodyne proved quite friendly once the subject was steered onto the topic of music. Still fiercely enthusiastic, but in a way Bianca was a bit more familiar with. There were times when it almost felt friendly, the lively conversation and her own inclusion in it, except there were still bones decorating the ceiling and she kept thinking of those limbs.

After dinner they had more wine in the library which was again huge and oppressive but also the most amazing thing Bianca had ever seen. She was almost afraid to see what the Heterodynes would have books about, but the sheer number of books was awe-inspiring in itself. Then bed, which was a relief to Bianca, exhausted as she was, at least until she found herself alone in a huge, dark room with her nurse in a smaller adjoining room. The bed was big enough for ten, she was sure, and she couldn’t escape the feeling that the walls were watching her. She changed into her nightdress quickly and huddled under the covers as if she was a little girl again.

Bianca woke in the middle of the night to the crash of thunder overhead. A flash of lightning illuminated something outside her window, a grinning gargoyle that she was sure hadn’t been there when she went to sleep. It vanished back into the blackness and thunder rolled again, but Bianca felt breathless. She sat up and pressed back against the headboard eyes transfixed on the window. The next flash of lightning showed it closer still, one stone hand reaching for the catch. She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream. As soon as the lightning faded she slipped out of bed and rushed, stumbling and stubbing her toes, to the door to her nurse’s room. She yanked on the handle only to find it locked — she was sure that last night it hadn’t even had a lock. In a sudden panic she started to hammer on it.

Lightning showed the window slightly open and the gargoyle’s wicked grin peeking around it.

Bianca wrenched at the other door from her bedroom and was almost in tears of relief when it let her emerge into the corridor. She fled down corridor after corridor, searching frantically for some place — any place! — that might feel safe. But it was all bones and eerie painting. Eventually she calmed from sheer exhaustion enough to remember that some of the corridors contained traps. Enough, also, to realise she was lost.

She sank down onto the floor. It felt as if Castle Heterodyne might simply swallow her. There were things skittering in the walls. She sobbed and pulled her feet back under her flimsy nightdress, wrapping her arms around her knees.

‘Hoy, vot is hyu doink here?’

She cowered back from the flash of teeth in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t eat me!’

‘Hy’m not gonna eatchu.’ He leant closer, she could see the silhouette of a single horn, and then wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her to her feet without apparent effort. ‘Oops-a-daisy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Hy take hyu to Mizz Agatha, hyu don’t vant to wander around dis place.’

‘N-no. I don’t.’ She didn’t want to see Lady Heterodyne either. Or to go back to her bedroom and that fiendish gargoyle. The Jäger wasn’t going to give her time to sort out what she did want though, he was pulling her down the corridor with his claws making tiny points against her skin.

Then she realised where he was pulling her towards. That door. That lab. In the middle of the night when no one knew where she was. Bianca started screaming, knowing no one could hear who would care and unable to stop anyway. She kicked and wrenched at the Jäger, who appeared mildly bemused by this and kept tugging. The door opened spilling out light and the smell of blood. The darkness finally closed in on Bianca.

She woke from her swoon to find herself on a couch in a small anteroom. Appropriately, a fainting couch. Lady Heterodyne was sitting across from her looking anxious. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

Bianca whimpered. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ said Lady Heterodyne. ‘Did the lab upset you that much?’

Since things could hardly get worse Bianca whispered, ‘Whose arms are they?’

‘What? Oh, no, I grew them from scratch! They’re for the Jägers, a lot of them have been injured while there wasn’t a Heterodyne, it’s my duty to fix them.’

Something unknotted in Bianca’s chest. She was still scared, but no longer in the throes of extreme terror. ‘And the gargoyle?’

‘What gargoyle?’ Then, more sharply. ‘What did it do?’

‘It was at my window, it started to come in.’ Bianca was shivering.

To her surprised, Lady Heterodyne got up and threw a blanket over her and then sternly addressed a wall. ‘Castle, I ordered you very strictly not to harm her, talk in front of her, or move anything in front of her except the doors. What did you think you were doing?’ A long pause. ‘You can answer that.’

‘Thank you, mistress. I obeyed your instructions to the letter. The gargoyle never moved while she was looking at it.’

Bianca squeaked. ‘The Castle?’

‘Yes, it’s alive,’ said the Lady Heterodyne. ‘Also evil-minded and contrary. If it tries this again with guests I’m going to melt all its weathervanes.’ There was a sound of protest from the wall. ‘Would you rather spend the rest of the night in a hotel?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Bianca. ‘Will you walk me to my room, to get dressed and get my things.’

Lady Heterodyne smiled, looking surprisingly relieved. ‘Of course.’

 


	26. Cracky B-movie Horror

Reasons we should not have come back to Paris with Gil:

1) Giant two-headed snakes  
2) Army of skeletons  
3) Land sharks  
4) Journalists  
5) Rain of sharks (fortunately not land ones)  
6) Gil keeps rescuing girls, which is not technically a bad thing, but Agatha gets huffy  
7) Underground whirlwinds  
8) Which were full of still more sharks  
9) Agatha has started rescuing the girls herself, which means she’s no longer huffy and she’s having fun, but now it’s both of them they keep trying to drag me along  
10) Crocodiles invading the opera  
11) Ruined clothes, lost glasses, lost brand new death ray  
12) …but being dragged on adventures maybe isn’t that bad


	27. Abandoned Locations

The year I turned twelve was the year I met Tarvek and Agatha. Saying it like that makes it sound like I met them at the same time, or in the same way, but in reality Tarvek was a fellow student at my school and I still don’t know what Agatha was.

The school I started at that year was a boarding school, a posh one, and I was there on a scholarship. This meant I was a target for every student who wanted one, because I was the only person there without the connections to make their lives difficult in retaliation. Tarvek was one of the decent ones, the ones not looking for a target, but he was as posh as any of them. I don’t think I even noticed him until the time I had to run from the bullies before I cried in front of them and he came after me with a chocolate bar.

We were both horribly embarrassed. My first impulse was to throw the chocolate bar at him and yell at him for following me. He must have known I’d be crying, he should have realised I didn’t want to be seen. If I’d followed it I don’t think he’d ever have come near me again. When I realised he looked worried and a bit guilty, probably because he’d come to offer solidarity in secret but not stood up for me, and embarrassed himself but not at all amused, I took the chocolate and muttered, ‘thanks.’

‘I was going to the library,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘Do you want to come?’

I blinked at him. ‘You want to get away from them too.’ Tarvek wasn’t ever bullied, that I knew about. He wasn’t even a loner, although he always seemed to be on the edges of a group. But I was suddenly sure of it.

He shrugged.

I smiled at him. ‘I know better places to do that than the library.’

After that we were inseparable. I was a terrible influence. There were a dozen ways to sneak out of the school without being caught and I’d found all of them. Tarvek made truancy easier, too, he was such a good liar he could have teachers half convinced we must have been in class after all and they’d somehow missed us. We both fancied ourselves adventurers, and would be obviously truants hanging around town in the middle of the day, so we gravitated to abandoned places. Old houses, or just paths no one seemed to take anymore where the brambles grew half across crumbling tarmac. It was inevitable that we’d wind up at the old theme park eventually.

The old theme park had been abandoned for a decade and never very big to start with. Six rides and some stalls, almost more of a fairground, but it loomed large in our imaginations. Partly because we all really regretted not having a theme park on our doorsteps, partly because the old, decaying rides made a great setting for all sorts of stories whispered in the dorms. So, naturally, Tarvek and I set out to find out what was really there.

It was everything we’d hoped for. Which was mostly space — a huge empty place, just for us — but it really was cool. The first place we went was the rollercoaster, visible from across the park with the huge rusting iron frames holding the bumps of its track. Its train was parked in the station, a set of seven metal cars shaped like a green dragon. The paint had worn off the face, slightly, especially over the eyes where the green undercoat had held on longer than any of the colours on top, except for black flakes caught along the bottom ridge of each eye. It made it look like it was asleep.

The merry-go-round horses were in fierce, racehorse poses, but the pupils of the eyes were worn to strange shapes and the white paint on the teeth had flaked, leaving jagged triangles. They looked carnivorous, those horses, and Tarvek and I both had a favourite picked out in seconds.

We passed down a line of boarded up stalls, next. You could just pick out what they’d been selling or offering as prizes on the signs, but the only one still showing anything was one with a mechanical fortune teller in a glass case. She was beautifully painted and her dress was still vivid red — the case must have protected her from the weather. Tarvek fed her a coin and she printed him a slip: Believe in strange things. Your lucky number is three.

The next ride we reached was a massive disappointment. It had been a tilted ride, kind of like a ferris wheel partly on its side, shaped like a huge web with cars like spiders. And that was all I could tell because the spiders had all fallen from the web and were lying on the ground in pieces. It wasn’t the slightly eerie neglect of the rest of the park, it looked like deliberate vandalism.

I kicked at a bit of spider leg, feeling strangely indignant that someone had ruined a bit of our private hideaway before we even got there, and Tarvek tugged my arm. ‘There’s a haunted house over there, let’s go and see.’

The haunted house was a ghost train, really, not the kind of haunted house you walk through, but it said Haunted House on the sign. The train cars were in the shape of gargoyles, sitting with their legs crossed around the bottom and their wings spread out to make the sides, while their shoulders and grinning heads hunched forwards to make a roof. The house itself was like a mansion, the kind you see in cartoons more than reality, with exaggeratedly sharp roofs and slightly off kilter windows. Decay had only made it look more haunted. The track looked sturdy, though, and the doors it ran through were open.

‘Want to go inside?’ I asked.

Tarvek peered into the dark. ‘We didn’t bring torches.’

‘We can turn back once it’s too dark to see,’ I said.

‘You’d better not.’ It was a girl’s voice, young but self-assured. ‘It doesn’t like visitors.’

We turned and she was sitting there, on the front of a gargoyle car, swinging her legs. A girl a few years younger than us wearing a tattered dress that I recognised after a few moments as Belle’s gown from Beauty and the Beast. Her feet were bare and dirty and her eyes were green and forthright. My first reaction was annoyance. This was mine and Tarvek’s place, the best place we’d ever found, and I demanded, ‘What are you doing here?’

Her chin went up. ‘I live here. What are you doing here?’

‘You can’t live here,’ I said. ‘It’s a theme park.’

‘Well, I do anyway,’ she said.

‘Who takes care of you?’ Tarvek’s question was gentle, but I don’t think she liked that gentleness any more than my truculence.

‘My parents and the rats,’ she said.

‘The _rats?’_ said Tarvek.

She shrugged. ‘Rats are nicer than anyone thinks. They’re a bit rough, but they look out for me, and they keep the spiders away.’ She pointed and when we followed her finger we could see three rats sitting on an old bit of spider car. They didn’t seem to be doing anything, just sitting there watching Agatha.

‘Rats don’t look after people,’ I said. One of the rats chose that moment to stand up and bare its teeth at me.

‘Shows what you know,’ she answered.

‘Could we meet your parents?’ Tarvek asked. He sounded very carefully calm, like he was speaking to a much younger child. I think he’d decided she was mad, while I just thought she was lying.

‘If you like,’ she said and slid off the gargoyle car.

She led us to the hall of mirrors, which seemed a reasonable place for squatters to be living. Unlike the haunted house it had real floors. But she stopped outside the door, where slightly larger than human mannequins of Punch and Judy framed a sign: Punch and Judy’s House of Mirrors. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, and threw her arms around the Judy mannequins waist. ‘I had to stop them going into the haunted house and they wanted to meet you.’

‘Those aren’t real,’ I said.

‘Don’t be mean,’ she snapped.

‘Haven’t you ever thought about going outside the park and finding someone else to take care of you?’ Tarvek asked.

‘I don’t want to leave my parents,’ she said. ‘And I can’t go out, anyway, not while the spiders are looking for me.’

‘Which spiders?’ I asked, starting to find her story interesting.

‘All of them,’ she said. ‘My mother promised me to them, but I was already promised to the rats like everyone on my father’s side. The rats are nicer about it.’

‘That’s pretty cool,’ I said. I didn’t believe her, of course, but she’d clearly gone to some trouble with this story.

‘It’s not very convenient,’ she said primly, then smiled at me. ‘Do you still want to see inside the haunted house? It won’t do anything if I’m with you.’

She showed us the haunted house, which she still spoke about as if it was a person. I’d stopped contradicting her by that point and started egging her on, curious to see where she was going with this tale of rats and spiders. What, I asked her as we picked our way along the rails by the light of a cheap torch she’d brought out, did either of them want her for?

‘To make me their queen,’ she said.

‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ I said.

‘It’s not good when spiders make a queen,’ she answered. Before I could ask about that a skeleton with a hatchet swung out of the darkness at us and made me and Tarvek shriek. Agatha just pushed it aside like she was used to it, embarrassing us thoroughly. We had a good time, though, exploring. She showed us the whole park and I didn’t even argue when she said the roller coaster dragon woke up sometimes, if she made him, but was always very tired.

By the time we were getting hungry I’d decided Agatha was nice, or at least fascinating, and when she asked whether we’d come back I said, ‘Sure. When will you next be here?’

She gave me a look as if I was being slow on the uptake. ‘I’m _always_ here.’ And then she ran off, back into the park.

‘Do you think she really does live there?’ Tarvek asked me that night in the dormitory.

I snorted. ‘No. She was dirty, yes, but she wasn’t _filthy_ and they wouldn’t still have running water connected there, even. She wasn’t starving either. She was making the whole thing up.’ He didn’t answer. ‘What?’ I didn’t want him confessing to where we’d been because he was worried about her. My father would have been furious, and as far as I was concerned she was just a weird little girl who had been doing the same thing we had and exploring a bit.

‘There weren’t any cobwebs,’ he said. ‘Not in the whole park. I looked.’

For the rest of that year we spent time in the theme park whenever we could. Tarvek was right — there were never any cobwebs — but I never read as much into that as he did. Tarvek was the sort of person who didn’t believe in magic but would sometimes whisper, ‘accio notebook,’ just in case, because if it was there he didn’t want to miss it. It was also true, though, that whenever we went there we would sooner or later find Agatha. The rats were familiar with her, running over her feet or riding on her shoulders, which was probably because she fed them. More than once we found her sharing a pizza with them and when I asked her if the rats had ordered the pizza she said her parents had.

Aside from Agatha’s strange stories we spent our time pretty normally. We climbed and explored, later we brought cards and books, and spent rainy days in the hall of mirrors, light from Agatha’s torch bouncing off distorted or shattered mirrors, teaching her how to play _Slam!_ and _Cheat._ Those mirrors were very strange — the mixture of damage and the original distortion gave some of them the sense that something was behind your reflection, lurking in the cracks.

I went home for the holidays, Tarvek didn’t, and I think he spent even more of them in the park. I’d found out pretty early that he liked school mostly because it meant he wasn’t at home. Once I’d even asked him if he was abused and he’d said, ‘no one would hit me,’ as if he wasn’t sure whether that meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’ either. In retrospect I should have worried about both of them more than I did. Even if Agatha wasn’t living alone in an amusement park, she was spending most of her time running around in it looking unkempt and wearing exclusively tattered dressing up clothes — a Disney princess one day and a pirate the next. And whatever Tarvek’s home was like, he didn’t want to be in it.

Once the summer holidays were approaching I got a letter from my father saying we were going to Iran to visit my mother and sister. Agatha was fascinated by the whole idea of another country, and made me recount my last trip there in some detail. We left her that day looking dissatisfied and thoughtful.

The next time we saw Agatha would be the last time before the holidays. She was waiting near the gates and when she saw us she ran over and said, ‘I want to go outside with you. Just once.’ She put so much weight into it that for the first time I sort of did believe she’d been in the theme park her whole life.

‘We should wait until after school hours,’ Tarvek said. ‘You’re young enough they’d know you should be in school, and you don’t exactly blend in.’

‘Okay,’ said Agatha. She then proceeded to fidget around asking when school hours ended until we gave up and decided it was close enough. The town was a pretty ordinary town, but Agatha stared at it with the same kind of wonder we’d felt for the theme park. ‘There are so many people,’ she said. Then, after she’d tried to engage a few people hurrying home from work in conversation, ‘but they’re not very friendly.’

She stared into the lighted shop windows, too, and then tried to talk to the mannequins until we dragged her away. Watching her I was feeling quite strange. I’d always thought she was a storyteller, a fantasist, but these reactions were too real and too strange. I didn’t know whether she was mad or something else, but she wasn’t what I’d thought. She was still my friend, though, and if she really had spent her whole life in a decaying theme park then I wanted to show her the whole world. I wanted her to always be this happy.

We bought ice creams and sat by the fountain in the town square to eat them and let Agatha people watch. It was while we were doing this that something skittered across my hand. I didn’t think much of it, it was summer, there were bugs, just shook it off and put my hand back down. Then something else skittered across the same hand and something else over my leg. I looked down and there were spiders. Not a solid blanket of them, but definitely something of a crowd. I yelped and jumped up, brushing my hands over myself frantically, and a moment later Tarvek and Agatha were doing the same.

Agatha looked around frantically, craning her head like a child lost in a store. ‘Which way is the park?’ she asked.

I grabbed one of her hands and Tarvek grabbed the other and we started running. There was no time for disbelief or trying to work out what was going on. We just had to get Agatha to safety. The spiders were trying to crawl onto my feet even as I ran; I took to lifting them with a flick and stomping them down hard. Tarvek was doing the same. Agatha was just running, throwing all her energy into keeping up with us.

We were on the road to the theme park when the rat met us. It was a scruffy grey one, missing its tail, and it stood up when it saw Agatha, squeaking at her fiercely, then turned and ran ahead of us.

‘Sorry,’ Agatha said, half sobbing. ‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to see.’

A flood of rats came out as we reached the gate, throwing themselves on the spiders, stomping with paws that were small but still big enough to squish. They weren’t any nicer than the spiders to have racing around my feet, but at least they weren’t trying to hurt me. The rats didn’t have it all their own way, though, when I glanced back I could see some buried under swarms of biting spiders and in other places unmoving furry bodies.

‘I’m home now,’ Agatha said, trying to pull her hands out of ours. ‘You should go, they’ll try to take me alive, but you could be killed.’

‘We’ll get you somewhere safer than this,’ I said.

‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Tarvek. ‘The hall of mirrors?’

‘The haunted house, the hall of mirrors won’t be enough right now. But —’ she continued to protest as we hauled her there, faster than she could have run.

We nearly made it. We so very nearly made it. If we hadn’t run under the broken spider ride things would have been different. But it was only when the shadow of the web was already over us that I thought of spiders and looked up. They were clinging to every millimeter of it. I don’t know how they’d got up there so fast, or how there were so many of them, but they were there. Above us they were starting to collect, starting to bulge, like water collecting on a tap when it’s just about to drip. I hauled on Agatha’s hand while Tarvek, on the other side of her, pushed at the same time and that falling globe of spiders hit him instead of her.

He shrieked. I shoved him onto the ground and rolled him, as if he was on fire. It was all I could think of to do. Agatha screamed something and the windows of the haunted house lit up. She grabbed our hands, seeming not to care that Tarvek was still covered in spiders and not all of them were squashed, and pulled us into one of the gargoyle cars. The train plunged forwards.

The car was meant for two, three of us was a tight fit, even small as we were, but considering the safety bar hadn’t come up that was a good thing. The first thing that happened was violent maniacal laughter and a haze of multicoloured smoke that made us choke but left the spiders dropping off Tarvek with their legs curled in. Dropping off all of us. Then the ghosts started. Skeletons, ghouls, bats, it threw everything at us except spiders. I don’t know if it was trying to scare us or, in some obscure way, trying to help, but it was awful and all the time in the background there was this maniacal laugh like someone insane having the time of their life.

The train stopped at the back entrance. There was a gift shop, which struck me as completely absurd. The way out was shut.

‘We’re safe here,’ said Agatha.

I looked at Tarvek. In the brighter light of the foyer, rather than the reddish light of the ride, his skin was bright red. Spiders, house spiders, aren’t very poisonous. But he’d been bitten by a lot of them. ‘Tarvek,’ I said. ‘Are you still with us?’

He blinked at me. ‘I don’t feel well.’

Agatha put one hand to her mouth. ‘If I get you out can you get him help?’

‘If I can reach a phone box, yes. But how can we leave the park?’

She looked grim, older than her years. ‘Trust me.’ She threw the exit door open. Outside was a phalanx of rats, ten deep, prepared to defend the house. Half a dozen of those rats were as big as terriers, and they all turned beady eyes on Agatha. ‘We need to get to the green dragon,’ she said, loudly. ‘Take us there.’ Then she stepped out and I followed her, supporting Tarvek, while the rats formed a perfect circle around us.

We lost a lot of rats on our way to the roller coaster. By the time we got there the circle was only one or two rats deep. ‘They’ve called reinforcements, but they might not be in time,’ said Agatha. She chewed her lip. ‘Get in.’

I pushed Tarvek in ahead of me and hesitated. I couldn’t leave her there to face those spiders alone, and I couldn’t leave him with no one to get him out of the park. Agatha met my eyes.

‘Go,’ she said, and suddenly there was a light in her eyes that didn’t seem reflected from anything. ‘This is my fight.’

Then she pushed me into the rollercoaster and slapped its flank. It roared to life and away up the rickety track.

Everything I saw after that was seen from dizzying bends and stomach churning drops. I thought I saw two people, slightly larger than life, riding sharp toothed merry-go-round horses across the park. I thought I saw the gargoyle cars from the ghost train, unbent from their permanent slouch and walking. I thought I saw Agatha outlined with lightning.

The roller coaster stopped, abruptly, on a low portion of the track near a hole in the fence we’d often used. As I looked back after half lifting Tarvek out I could have sworn its eyes were painted in, black on gold on red.

We got out, scrambling through the fence, Tarvek half delirious and me halfway to tears. I had to leave him to run to the phone box, even though I was terrified the spiders would follow us, and I wouldn’t stay on the line for the ambulance men, returning to him instead. I peered back through the gap then, thinking that now someone was coming for Tarvek I could go back and help Agatha. The way was blocked with furry bodies, a wall of rats, and I couldn’t bring myself to even try pushing through them.

The ambulance found us both slumped against the wall.

I don’t know whether my father withdrew me from the school because they’d failed to care for me, or whether they managed to expel me for truancy first. I do know everyone was very angry and that I didn’t return to the school the next year. My father was angry with Tarvek, too, even though exploring the theme park had been my idea and he’d been the one to get hurt. I was told he’d recovered, but wasn’t even allowed to write to him.

In a way I put them both out of my mind, Tarvek and Agatha. Life went on and that part of it had become too strange to talk about. But I’m old enough now to look for them myself. Tarvek shouldn’t be too hard to find, but I might leave him for second. I know where to start looking for Agatha, you see, I just don’t know if it’s safe.

 


	28. Mirrors

St Andrew’s Night is a night for monsters. Mechanicsburg has its own traditions around that: all tourists must be out of town by sundown; all children must be safely in their beds; all pets kept indoors. A night for monsters is a night where they do not have to be careful, where even the most predatory and instinct driven roam the town with impunity, where humans must be the ones to tread warily and act wisely.

Agatha strides through the crowds with the assurance that anything that attacks her will regret it more than she will. Tarvek is wary, body language unprovoking, but more curious than afraid. He doesn’t know, yet, how these constructs think. Gil is having fun. A little bit of a monster himself, Gil, and in a place and on a night where anyone who gets broken has only themselves to blame. He swaggers, if monsters are provoked he fights, and afterwards clinks glasses and shares a drink with even the one made mostly of bristles and teeth.

Agatha dances with them both to strange, rough music that never seems to slow. Above them Jägers caper across the roofs, thinking nothing of dance moves that fling them across alleys.

Close to midnight Agatha excuses herself and goes inside. She has an experiment to try.

St Andrew’s Night is also a night when the veil between worlds is thin, when the future can be glimpsed. Future husbands, particularly, whether it’s dropping lead in water to divine their profession or names under a pillow. Or reflections cast in a spring by the light of a candle saved from Easter, like this one. Although, being saved from a Mechanicsburg Easter, this one is red and black with a latticework design of skulls and bones.

It’s not very scientific, of course, and Agatha has previously had access to a time machine, so if she’d really wanted to glimpse the future she could have tried it then. She could also ask the Muses, although she suspects them of bias on this particular question. But, well, it’s an experiment, and she has an especially magical spring to try it out with. If not one very given to reflecting.

The blue light of the Dyne outshines the candle, and more so as she approaches the source. There’s a crackle in the air, a smell of ozone, but nothing that isn’t always there. Agatha tries to estimate the flow rate, wondering whether, if the veil between worlds is thin, the Dyne would flow faster than usual from wherever it comes from. She can’t see any difference, though. Next year she’ll set up measuring equipment.

The broken eggshell formation cupping the wellspring of the Dyne is not ideal for balancing candles on. Agatha drips wax onto a point and then sticks it there. ‘So,’ she says, leaning forward. ‘Who do I marry?’ Maybe Gil, maybe Tarvek. Maybe both, she’s heard it suggested enough, but there are complications there. Maybe she’s hoping for both, as if knowing the future would give her an excuse to pursue it.

Her reflection shows, shadowed and distorted, but impossibly there on the bubbling, crackling surface of the Dyne. She shivers, this is not her type of Spark and she was not expecting it to work, but she smiles too. Fascinating.

The reflection twists, becomes something huge, mouths split with fangs. Becomes something hulking and amorphous, becomes a ball of hands, spidery fingers reaching out. Fangs again and she recognises a Jäger, begins to recognise which Jäger before the reflection twists to show another and another. Agatha blinks. She loves her Jägers dearly, but not like that. And certainly not all of them. Townspeople begin to appear, male and female, laughing, one after the other. Agatha’s face is hot, she presses her fingers to her cheeks. Her ancestors had a reputation, some of them, but surely they didn’t… they couldn’t have found the time! And it’s not as if she has any intention…!

‘Really,’ she says, aloud, as if the Dyne is something she can remonstrate with. ‘I’m not marrying the whole town!’

Just like that she remembers herself on the steps, declaring herself the Heterodyne, the bell ringing. Mechanicsburg will always be first with her, as she is with it, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and what else does marriage mean? ‘I can think of a few things,’ she mutters. But it’s told her what she came to find, and it turned out to be what she already knew. That in the end she’d put Mechanicsburg first, over everything, and if marrying either Gil or Tarvek would be to its detriment then she won’t. She blows the candle out and closes her eyes, feeling let down, more lost than when she came.

One the way back to the party she drags her feet, unsure she wants to be there now. But when she reaches the square she finds Gil with an arm draped around Snoz, laughing at a Jäger’s anecdotes. Tarvek is talking to a tentacled brain, looking fascinated by whatever it’s telling him, even as he politely swats its tentacles away from the back of his neck.

They fit in, don’t they? It’s not as if they want to destroy it. The answer she got doesn’t mean she can’t marry them, if she wants to, if they want to. It just means she’ll have to work it out for herself.

 


	29. Modern Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Child death, child endangerment, gore.

They fall asleep in a tent in a sheltered valley, defences set up safely for the night.

*

Tarvek wakes up alone, the tent nowhere in sight, everything further than six feet from him shrouded in mist. The trees of the valley are red, now, like blood, like veins. It can happen in the wastelands, some flesh creature coming and twining itself around the trees in the night, and he wrinkles his nose but doesn’t panic. He has less explanation for the sky, the colour of light through closed eyelids.

There is a little girl with green eyes, wearing oversized woollens in clashing patterns, hair tucked up into a bobble hat.

‘Should you be here?’ Tarvek asks.

‘I’m lost.’ She’s not crying, but she sounds on the verge of it.

Tarvek does not know how to talk to children, but he holds out a hand. ‘Perhaps I can help you?’

She takes it and looks at him skeptically. ‘Aren’t you lost too?’

‘Well,’ he says. ‘Yes.’

She nods, as if satisfied, and lets him lead her away.

The ground is shaking around them, and, when she stumbles, Tarvek looks down to see her foot bleeding, a slash of brighter red on the fleshy ground. A scalpel is poking through where he thinks there wasn’t one before. He pulls out a handkerchief to bandage it. She is crying now, and he doesn’t know what to say. Comfort was never part of his own childhood. ‘I’ll carry you,’ he tries. ‘It won’t happen again.’

She nods and he lifts her. She’s so fragile in his arms, tiny and warm. He wants to protect her.

Hands start poking through the soil and if he runs they’ll trip him, so he holds the girl very tight and keeps walking. Then the faces start poking through, the faces of girls with vacant eyes, girls he knew briefly before his father took them. Then Anevka emerges, scalpel still in her hand, and he freezes just long enough for her to slice the little girl’s neck, warm blood running down his front.

Claws rip into him from behind and he doesn’t fight.

*

Gil wakes up alone, the tent nowhere in sight, everything further than six feet from him shrouded in mist. The trees of the valley are red, now, like blood, like veins. He looks at them cautiously, intrigued but worried by the lack of his companions. Above him the sky is the colour of light through closed eyelids.

There is a little girl with green eyes, wearing oversized woollens in clashing patterns, hair tucked up into a bobble hat.

‘What are you doing here?’ Gil asks, crouching down to be at eye level with her.

‘I’m lost,’ she says, sounding tearful.

‘Were you with your family?’ he asks.

She looks thoughtful and then nods. ‘I was with my Mama.’

‘Let’s look for her together, then,’ says Gil, taking her hand. He is afraid her mother may already be eaten by whatever is hanging from the trees, but there is no harm in looking.

She is very young, younger than the youngest of the children on Castle Wulfenbach, and he feels protective of her. Deeply, fiercely so. When the trees spread out red branches, clawed at the tips, he fears for her although they haven’t touched her yet. He swings her up into his arms and she protests, ‘I was okay walking.’

‘It’s dangerous here,’ he says. There are things moving between the trees, shadows like wolves with maws like alligators. If he has to fight them he’ll have to put her down to have his hands free. This wood is a terrible place for so young a child.

There is a birdcage hanging from one of the trees, big enough to fit a child in. Gil picks it up. ‘Go in here, it will keep you safe,’ he says.

‘I don’t want to!’ she protests.

He pushes her in anyway, and shuts the door. He can hold the cage in one hand, his sword in the other, and if anything attacks she will still have the bars between it and herself. She is crying but she is safe, even as the claws reach out to scratch at his shoulders.

Eventually the weeping stops and he looks down, seeing her curled, cold and dead, at the bottom of the cage.

Claws rip into him from behind and he doesn’t fight.

*

Agatha wakes up alone, the tent nowhere in sight, everything further than six feet from her shrouded in mist. The trees of the valley are red, now, like blood, like veins. Above her the sky is the colour of light through closed eyelids.

There is a little girl with green eyes, wearing oversized woollens in clashing patterns, hair tucked up into a bobble hat.

Agatha smiles at her. ‘That’s a nice hat.’

‘Thank you.’ The girl sniffs. ‘I have lots. This one’s my favourite.’

‘Did you lose your parents?’ Agatha asks.

The girl traces circles on the ground with one toe. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Well. I’ve lost my friends. Do you want to come with me while I find them?’

The girl nods and takes Agatha’s hand.

There is a strange humming in the wood, but Agatha does not find it eerie. There are monsters but they keep their distance, so she only watches warily. There is laughter, raucous and drunken, and the girl lifts her head. ‘My friends are here!’

She lets go of Agatha’s hands and runs ahead, Agatha jogging after, until she sees the group of Jägers around a campfire and comes to a halt, smiling. They loom in the mist, but they pick up the child, swing her around, and she’s laughing happily. Then the other people come. Humans. Nobles with crowns and flags, men and women with Heterodyne novels. They take her arms and try to pull her away, try to pull her with them. The Jägers grab at her as she grabs at them, but the people are pulling too roughly, they slice her on their claws.

Agatha starts running towards them, shrieking, ‘Let go! You’ll tear her apart!’

And then the girl is ripped limb from limb, red entrails spilling out onto the red forest floor.

Claws rip into Agatha from behind and she turns with them still lodged in her. Sees herself, fingers grown to jointed spikes longer than her arms and plunged between her own ribs.

‘I thought so,’ she says.

‘You let that happen,’ says the clawed Agatha.

‘I didn’t and I won’t,’ says Agatha. There’s blood trickling from her mouth. She puts a hand on her belly. ‘Let us go.’

The creature withdraws her claws and turns away.

*

Agatha wakes. She’s curled on the tent floor where she went to sleep, but there’s blood seeping from her mouth and between her ribs. The boys look worse, backs raked savagely almost to the spine, but they still have pulses.

She picks up a distress flare and goes outside.

 


	30. Villain!Characters AU

Gil was halfway through remodelling the wings on a gargoyle clank when Tarvek came up behind him and slipped something over his head.

‘Giving me jewellery, now?’ Gil asked, absently pulling the trinket to the end of its chain. Trilobite, a pretty common design. He turned back to the gargoyle, wondering about that joint on the wing, and the next thing his head was coming apart. ‘ARGH. Red _Fire!_ What did you do to me?’ He tugged the necklace off, roughly, and dropped it onto a table.

‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ said Tarvek, lounging against the doorframe. ‘One of the crew died earlier and this was in his pocket. I think he must have taken it from one of the hostages. Look inside.’

Gil pulled it open and found two portaits, one of which was familiar from his father’s possessions. ‘Bill Heterodyne. And Lucrezia?’

‘Yes.’ Gil looked at Tarvek properly, mind thoroughly distracted from gargoyles now, and saw the light in his eyes. Tarvek had found something to unravel. ‘Looks like we have a Heterodyne on board. And she doesn’t know it.’

‘Why she?’

‘It looks more like something a woman would wear, doesn’t it?’

Gil tipped his head on one side. ‘You’re lying to me again,’ he said teasingly.

‘Nonsense.’ Tarvek’s family’s secrets were locked away in his past, Gil had long since stopped pushing for them with any real intention, and now Tarvek seemed to feel that word was enough of a deflection. ‘But a Heterodyne,’ he said. ‘If we could get her on our side we could rule Europa.’

Gil groaned. ‘I don’t want to rule Europa. The whole point of this was avoiding it.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Tarvek.

‘It wouldn’t be any fun, you know,’ said Gil. ‘Piracy’s much better.’

Tarvek picked up the locket and opened it up. ‘I’ve made detailed copies of the schematics in case we want to use it on Spark prisoners later. But I’m going to deactivate it before giving it back to her.’

Gil considered arguing and then grinned instead. ‘That should make the rest of this journey more interesting.’

*

Agatha stood rigid. Whatever happened now, whatever was done to her, she would have the memory of a winged clank — _her_ winged clank — taking prisoners down to safety. She’d done something. She’d been useful. Even if she was killed for it it would have been worth every moment.

Captain Gilgamesh came into the room with his bright clothes and sweeping coat torn around the edges and blood running down his arms. He was laughing. ‘Wow, you build better gargoyles than I do, and out of repurposed heating system and whatever a bunch of hostages had in their pockets!’

He wasn’t taking her seriously, even now. Agatha glared. ‘I freed half your prisoners. Good luck getting ransom for them now.’

‘Best fight I’ve had in ages,’ he said. ‘Tarvek was right about you.’

‘I didn’t do it for your amusement! People needed help!’

‘And you helped them most impressively,’ another voice cut in. Agatha turned to see Captain Tarvek in the doorway, bright clothes immaculate. He’d clearly left the fighting to Gil. ‘I wasn’t expecting something quite that dramatic when I deactivated your locket.’

‘My locket?’ Her hand went to it automatically, a feeling of numb betrayal starting to set in. Her uncle had told her never to take it off, her parents had reinforced that.

‘I looked inside.’ Captain Tarvek sounded almost apologetic. ‘I recognised the faces. Bill and Lucrezia Heterodyne.’

‘No… I _can’t_ be.’

‘Why not?’ asked Captain Gilgamesh. ‘Didn’t you just do what a Heterodyne would have done?’

She wished he was more upset about it, really. Your enemies were supposed to… to… _tremble before you._ Or at least swear revenge. Not treat it like a wonderful diversion!

‘You could take on the Heterodyne legacy,’ Captain Tarvek said, softly. ‘Mechanicsburg is waiting for you.’

‘But I can’t… my parents… I have to go home.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he said. ‘I decided not to go home to mine. Believe me, I can understand family loyalty, but there comes a point where it’s asking too much.’ He put a hand on her arm, tentatively, if she’d moved away he’d have pulled back. ‘Don’t you want what should have been yours all along? Including your Spark?’

Agatha hesitated. She wanted her parents. She wanted to build things. She wanted to be somewhere where no one could ever take away a part of her again. ‘And why would you help me?’ she asked.

But it was Captain Gilgamesh who answered. ‘Because you’re amazing! I want to see what you can do when you have everything!’

No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Once she got to Mechanicsburg even if they’d planned to take advantage of her they’d find it difficult. She made her decision. ‘Fine. Take me to Mechanicsburg.’

 


End file.
